Subsequently
by Mellifluous Violet
Summary: The Trio returns to The Burrow following the Battle of Hogwarts. Ron and Hermione lean on one another in the aftermath of grief and fight for normalcy. A bit of angst and drama with some R/H fluff!
1. Chapter 1

The thump of footsteps on the groaning wooden stairs roused the brunette witch from her place deep in _Commentaries on the Common Wizarding Laws of Britain_ Minister Shacklebolt had leant her several days ago. Her eyes narrowed from the tiny words on the page as she tried to discern who might have made their way to the very top of the Burrow. It wasn't quite time for lunch, which wasn't even taken as a large group these days anyway but a solitary affair, where the hungry ones would enter the kitchen and eat at their leisure without needing to carry on any small-talk. Since the return to this place, an unspoken rule that no one needed to partake in merriment had replaced age-old traditions of loud, shared mealtimes. It was still the time for mourning, despite long days full of sunshine in the home nestled among the green rolling hills.

With bated breath, she expected to hear a knock on the small door at any moment but instead the sounds of someone creaking open the little hatch in the ceiling and creep up the ladder meant the attic was their destination, not her boyfriend's bedroom.

 _Her boyfriend._ Hermione couldn't stand how that word made her feel – equal parts mortified at the frivolous term and at the same time downright pleased. Ronald Weasley meant so much more to her than that silly word encompassed. Her was her best friend, and she loved him with her whole heart. She had told him that several months before, the morning after the Battle of Hogwarts had claimed some of their dearest friends, allies, and, of course, Fred. Hermione could still vividly remember the brilliant smile Ron shot back at her when the words slipped from her mouth as they had been walking hand-in-hand down to the Great Hall through the rubble of their beloved school. It was a paradoxical moment – sublime, heartbreaking, and just felt right amid all the tragedy.

Ron leaned heavily on Hermione from that point on, putting on a face for the cameras and interviews and representing his grieving family as best he could in the subsequent days and breaking down in her arms just as soon as the two were alone. Ron's breaking down wasn't the same as Hermione's, who ashamedly ended up in tears and gasps and snotty nose blowing. No, Ron went completely silent and caved in on himself, shaking and muttering so quietly that Hermione could only comprehend the sorrowful utterances if she forced open his arms and pressed her face very close to his. For his love for food, Ron was horrible at remembering mealtimes these days and probably would have lost even more weight without Hermione's intervention. When it was placed before him he ate, but gone were the days she remembered fondly when her ginger-haired best friend's entire world revolved around the next meal. Three times a day Hermione would slip down to the kitchen and arrange a familiar tray for Ron, sometimes adding her own meal and Harry's so the trio could eat together. Hermione knew Ron hated the somber way meals in his family had become since the battle, with his mum holed up in her room and Arthur constantly at work or in the barn outside, tinkering with battery-operated radios and alarm clocks to avoid his inconsolable household. Ginny wailed, taking refuge in the arms of Molly. The brothers were stoic. Gone was the teasing, the experimenting, the squabbling. How Hermione's heart ached for normalcy of sibling bickering she had grown accustomed to over the years.

She placed the book down gingerly on the nightstand, moving aside candlesticks and empty glasses to make room for it. Releasing the breath she hadn't realized she was holding until she heard rummaging from the floor above her, Hermione focused her attention on the sleeping form next to her.

It always amazed Hermione how deeply and quickly Ron was able to fall asleep, but until the fateful Horcrux search Hermione hadn't realized just how _long_ Ron could slumber. And now, in grief, Ron slept most of the time. He snored softly, the sound amusing his girlfriend as she watched his body rise and fall in sync with the noise. When the sun rose each morning, Hermione usually busied herself with chores or helping with breakfast, but without fail would eventually end up in the stuffy upstairs bedroom and sit reading with Ron as he dozed. When he occasionally rose to go the loo or take sips of water, he'd just tumble right back down to sleep the moment he returned to his childhood bed.

Ron lay sprawled out on his back, head turned towards the wall away from the window with one arm resting on his chest as the other hung over the edge of the small wiry bed. Hermione leaned down and pecked him softly on the cheek. When he didn't stir, she raised her hips to dip under the covers of his patchwork quilt and cozy up next to him. Her movement and the creak of the metal bedsprings caused Ron to shift slightly, but his eyes remained closed.

Despite the summer heat, Hermione welcomed the warmth of Ron's body next to hers. How she had longed to do this very thing all those nights during the war when she would tuck into her cold sleeping bag after taking a turn guarding their tent, remembering the feelings of insecurity and longing mingled with physical effects of coldness and fear. Sometimes she wondered what their relationship would have been like if Ron had been spared wearing the locket at all.

Hermione knew that if one were to walk into the room right now (perhaps whoever was still rummaging about in the attic) they might appear to be in a compromising position, but since the early spring days of the war Hermione was beyond caring what anyone assumed about her and Ron. They had only really kissed a handful of times, and subsequent ones from the first smoldering kiss in the hallway at Hogwarts had been more for comfort than anything romantic. Ron kissed Hermione the first time they had to separate to go shower and sleep in different dormitories on the evening after the final battle (though Hermione had later snuck into the boys' room when she couldn't bear being so far from her closest friends), right before apparating back to the Burrow several days later, and one night when Hermione had released a flood of tears after waking from a dreadful nightmare.

Both Harry and Hermione shared Ron's small room. Of course it had only been natural for the Boy Who Lived to continue his tradition of bunking up with his best mate, but for Hermione this was a drastic change from her usual stay in Ginny's room. It hadn't even been a question of where his girlfriend would stay – Ron immediately pulled her upstairs the first day they'd arrived back to the Burrow, a day that Hermione had thanked Merlin countless times upon realizing that the home they all adored hadn't been destroyed. Sure, the Death Eaters had done their due diligence demolishing the Weasley's belongings and left the place in disarray, but the house itself was stable. Hermione couldn't bear to imagine the look on Molly's face if she'd had to endure yet another tragedy.

Since abandoning it in Ottery St. Catchpole, the Burrow had collected a fair amount of dust, grime, and rodents. Hermione had tied up her hair and went to work on the house, scrubbing floors and repairing shattered dishes alongside Fleur and Harry as the Weasley men helped Molly and Ginny upstairs. Ron and George had isolated themselves as well, with Ron fortifying the protection charms around the house (Hermione hadn't the heart nor conviction yet to tell him it was no longer necessary with Voldemort gone) and George took to flying his old Cleansweep in circles around the desolate makeshift pitch outside.

Surprisingly, the house was livable after a few hours of concentrated effort. While much work was left to be done, they could all stay in the house. Bill and Fleur returned to Shell Cottage and brought Percy with them, but Harry and Hermione knew this was their home for now. As the sun set over Devon, a myriad of baskets, meat pies, and neatly tied bags of second-hand clothes and bedding had been delivered to the Burrow by wizarding families in the area. News of the Fallen Fifty had been widely circulated by this point, with Harry's haggard face making the front page of the Prophet.

After covering up the remaining food gifted to the grieving family, Hermione turned to continue her work ridding the cupboard of its beady-eyed inhabitants when she felt Ron's arm twist around her waist. She allowed him to pull her towards the rickety stairs, the summer night air cooling the quiet house. Words were not exchanged as the two trudged in circles up the wooden staircase, passing each Weasley bedroom and pretending there wasn't someone mourning behind each door.

Ron's room had been most thoroughly poked through by Snatchers, much to his displeasure. Chudley Cannon motifs were ripped through, trinkets scattered, and books torn and left haphazard across the floor. Hermione had been careful to help him clear the ruined contents, not wanting to breach his privacy any more than it had already been but also refused to leave his side. A photo of Ron and Harry taken at Diagon Alley had been stolen, the frame lay cracked on his dresser.

"All your letters. Everything from Harry I saved. Those bastards took it all!" Ron had shouted that day as they cleared his room, frustration getting the better of him as he realized what else was missing. All Hermione could do was listen, unsure of what to say . It made her stomach twist to think of someone reading all the letters she'd sent to Ron over the past six summer holidays and intruders rifling through Ron's room for signs of where Harry might be.

Ron's bed had been remade earlier in the day with fresh sheets and a faded patchwork quilt gifted by some well-wisher when they came up for bed. Harry was already dozing soundlessly on a sleeping bag by the door, his black hair wild about his head. Hermione couldn't help but swell with affection for her brave friend, who deserved more peaceful rest than anyone in the whole world for what he'd endured in the last twenty-four hours, no mind his entire life.

Ron's bed was barely large enough for his lanky frame, which he insisted Hermione take until she finally relented. As the days wore on, Hermione began to recognize a pattern: she'd wake early to get ready for the day, prepare breakfast to bring up, and come back to find Ron in the bed, twisted up in the sheets she had slept in, where he would stay until evening to return to his nest of blankets on the floor like Harry. By morning Harry would normally be sniffing out his own food or out by the garden. While Hermione longed to share the bed with Ron at night, she knew that would make Harry uncomfortable; however, that didn't stop her from crawling under the covers with him when she could.

"Morning, darling," Hermione whispered as Ron lazily reached to pull her against his side. The term of endearment caught Hermione off guard as much as Ron the first time she'd called him that, reminding her painfully of her missing parents. A lump formed in her throat whenever she thought of them, recalling how she didn't even know her father's first name because she only ever heard her mother refer to him as "dear" or "darling" until she was in grade school. However, it flowed from her lips as naturally as his name these days when they were alone.

Ron's head turned towards her but eyes remained closed. Hermione chuckled softly and moved her face even closer, eager to soak up intimacy with Ron before Harry or someone else interrupted. Her nose pressed against his jaw and moved her hand to his right shoulder, encapsulating him in a gentle hug.

"Someone's upstairs," she murmured, trying to keep her voice nonchalant. Despite her effort, she felt Ron tense beside her. "It's probably just your dad looking for something, right?"

"Dunno," came his reply, thick from sleep. Hermione knew Ron hated the awkwardness with which everyone seemed to operate in the house, so she imagined his uneasiness was from someone acting out of character. No one ever came upstairs except for the trio. Rarely was anyone in the livingroom, or the kitchen, or out in the garden except for Hermione and Harry and occasionally Ron.

They lay in silence for several moments, both nearly falling asleep again until a loud thump and heavy footsteps caused Ron to flinch and Hermione to sit straight up. They were all still learning to let their guard down a bit more these days, but old habits still got the better of them as both reached for their wands from the nightstand. Handing Ron his, Hermione got up quietly from the bed and made her way to the door. She felt Ron move around her as he came to stand in front, shielding her from whoever was slowly making their way down the latter. No sooner than Hermione had rehearsed the disarming spell in her head than she heard the hacking cough of an aging woman.

Ron paled, turning back to Hermione with wide blue eyes. "Blimey, it's her. We're in for it."

 _A/N: Cliffhanger! New chapter coming tomorrow or Wednesday. Please follow and tell me what you think so far! Depending on feedback, I may make this a 5-10ish chapter fic._


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: I'll be switching back and forth from Hermione to Ron's POV with each chapter. Hope you enjoy this one!_

While he had anticipated it might be his great-great aunt standing on the landing outside his door, adorned pompously in her feathered hat and long, stuffy burgundy robes despite the warm weather, it took him a moment to register that she had a strange companion with her.

"Well, well, well now…about time someone managed to pull themselves out of bed."

Ron couldn't seem to make words form. He had not seen Auntie Muriel since the memorial service at the Ministry over a month ago, which was a downright somber affair even without insulting comments from his cantankerous relative. He'd made no effort to avoid her then, though she'd been preoccupied with tutting over Molly.

Though he knew it was rude, he couldn't help but turn his gaze to Hermione beside him. Her face was pale and set in surprise, but she otherwise seemed fine. He remembered her first and last interaction with his great-great aunt had been unsavory. He eyed Hermione up and down quickly – she was presentably dressed for the day in a pretty olive top and jeans, thank Merlin, and her hair was loosely pulled back. She looked gorgeous. Ron wished he'd managed to get himself out of his nightclothes before leaving his bedroom.

"Don't just stand there gaping like a trout, Ronald. Do help Bromley carry down this trunk. It's a wonder he was even able to cart this down himself," she said curtly, gesturing to the figure beside her with her walking cane. A dwarf, slightly taller and less pudgy than Professor Flitwick, was dressed smartly in an emerald suit. He appeared winded, but still turned to Hermione and Ron who had yet to say anything.

"Calvin Bromley, of Twilfitt and Tattings," he announced in a nasally voice. Ron robotically stuck out his hand to shake it, musing at the dwarf's immaculate fingernails. As Ron muttered his name, he wondered how Muriel had describer her grieving great-niece's family to him. He'd nearly forgotten that she loved to keep company with uppity witches and wizards.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Bromley. You make lovely hats." Hermione took his hand and smiled politely, the color returning to her face.

"Ah! That'll be the elves, Miss. Granger. I just design them." He said proudly, clearly not picking up on the disdain written across Hermione's face as she took in his response.

"And you've been inside, girl?" Muriel's scoff caused the already warm space to feel even more stifling as Ron considered what she was implying. It was no question that wealthy pureblood families frequented the high-end shop. However, before Ron could react, Auntie Muriel continued.

"Put on a spot of tea, girl," she ordered Hermione. "You, Ronald, come with me once you've assisted Bromley. We must get Molly out of bed. Lying about will never do – I should know, seeing as I'm traipsing about the countryside even at my delicate age. Heavens me! I might have reason to lie in bed all day with nearly 110 years of hardship to gripe about."

"She's lost her _son_ , you –" Ron began but Hermione grabbed his arm before he could call Muriel a cow. Locking eyes with Hermione, he could tell she was silently begging him to let it go.

"I know, darling. Just let her be, she might actually help," Hermione whispered so quietly her lips barely moved. She looked lovely. He wanted to kiss her. Momentarily distracted, he nodded lightly at Hermione before she obediently turned to descend downstairs. Her curly ponytail flounced with each step she took.

"Where are the others? Moping about as well?"

"Er…s'pose they're…um…resting."

" _Resting?_ Hear that, Bromley, that's what this lot calls it. I daresay, Arthur better get a grip on this family before all of you spiral deeper into self-pity. No time like the present to kick bad habits, eh?" The dwarf just rocked back and forth in his shiny loafers, clearly disinterested and a bit impatient. He discreetly checked the time on his impressive pocket watch more than once.

Ron didn't know what to say. He was in no mood to quarrel with his aunt, and knew from experience that the easiest way to stay in her good graces was to nod in agreement and escape at the first opportunity. He hoped she'd leave as soon as the blasted trunk was downstairs and she had an opportunity to nitpick a bit longer.

However, he knew that his mum listened to Muriel. The old woman meant more to her than she usually let on, especially when she was missing her own mother and father. Muriel was one of the few family members she had left, aside from her own children and husband. She might be the only one with enough gumption to rouse his mum from her pit of despair. He cringed, remembering the weeping he heard from her room just the day before as he walked past her door.

With a flick on his wand, Ron eased the trunk down the spiral staircase. As they passed his parents' bedroom, Ron paused. He had no idea what state his mum and sister might be in behind that door, and a part of him hated to unleash an irritable Auntie Muriel on them without warning.

He must have hesitated too long, because Muriel took that as her cue to rap the door five times with the end of her cane. "You have guests! Present yourselves in the kitchen, dearies, it's rude to keep us waiting," she crooned, clearly pleased with herself as she brushed past Ron and stepped into the kitchen. Ron muttered his apologies to the closed door as he scurried past it.

The table in the kitchen was set beautifully – Hermione had done away with the dirty dishes and brought out the nicer tea set. She was just setting a cozy about the pot when the three of them bounded into the kitchen.

"Aunt Muriel, how do you take your – " Hermione started to ask before Muriel brusquely interrupted her, remarking at how she hated the thought of other grubby hands on her tea. Ron stepped towards his girlfriend defensively, pulling her to his side and resting his hand on the small of her back. Hermione glanced up at him, her jaw set tight. He hadn't seen her this uneasy in a long time. Anger flashed at anyone who spoke to Hermione like that.

" _Thank you_ for setting the tea," Ron said loudly, "you know, Auntie Muriel, my girlfriend– "

" _Girlfriend_? Ha! Saw that coming, your father did. Oblivious to nearly anything, that man, and then goes and predicts this…" Muriel prattled on as she dumped sugar lumps into her cup.

Ron blushed violently at the thought of his family speculating anything about him and his relationship with Hermione with anyone, especially his batty old aunt. In the brightness of the kitchen, he remembered the long summer days when Fred and George would tease him mercilessly about Hermione when Errol or Pig would deliver a letter from her. He'd pretend to be disinterested, ripping open the envelope and feigning a quick scan, when in actuality he'd positively savor the words scribbled on the pages for days and weeks, keeping them all treasured away in a drawer in his room.

He squeezed Hermione to his side a bit tighter, his thumb grazing back and forth across her back. He couldn't get enough of the fact that she was his. That she _wanted_ him, after all they'd been through together. With his right hand he flicked his wand to the windows, lifting the shades to flood the room with even more light. Ron felt Hermione lean deliciously in to him, her hand sneaking behind her back to touch his hand. They met eyes and Ron couldn't help but shoot her a grin.

"What's her name again?" Muriel asked, her back turned on them as she poured cream into her rosy cup.

"Muriel, it's been all over the papers for nearly a year! Miss. Hermione Granger, goodness me – I couldn't forget your name even if I wanted to," came the snooty, slight wheezing voice of Bromley. "We owe you both and your friend Mister Potter a great deal of gratitude. Maybe now we can finally all live our lives in peace. Speaking of which, Muriel, it's really about time I should be heading back to London – "

"Strange name. Very odd…but then again, I have a great-great niece with the name _Ginevra_ for Merlin's sake."

"What a lovely welcome," came the deadpan voice of Ginny. She ambled in with Harry trudging in right behind her. Ron made a mental note to remind himself to ask Harry where the two of them had been.

A few tense moments ticked by as the hodgepodge group prepared their tea in silence before the dwarf couldn't contain himself any longer.

"As.. erhm, _delightful_ as this has been, I really should be seeing to the shop. Hate to leave London for more than a day or two, Muriel," Bromley started, his voice unyielding. "Do you mind terribly showing me the material, and then we can see about determining a price?"

"What material?" Ginny snapped, narrowing her eyes. Ron groaned, sensing a row was about to ensue. "You can't just take something out of here. It belongs to us!"

Muriel shot a disapproving look at Ginny before explaining that housing the Weasleys during the war had put her out quite a bit (" _you know how much you lot eat!")_ and that Molly's wedding dress had been leant to her by Muriel in the first place.

"It's worth more than most anything I own! Of course that little French girl refused to wear it, with her taste…"

"Just let her take it, Gin." Ron was willing to do anything at this point to get rid of the annoying houseguests. What did his mum care about some old dress stuck up in the attic for decades? Hermione suddenly straightened beside him and he heard her breath catch in her throat. When he turned to see if she was alright, he took in her widened eyes staring straight ahead. Sure enough, his mum had unceremoniously appeared in the kitchen, arms crossed across her chest and an unreadable expression on her face.

Ron felt a bit like he was seeing a dog walk on its hind legs. Her eyes were completely bloodshot, her face so puffy it was hard to even see the familiar hazel of her eyes. She appeared even smaller than he remembered. Ron longed to reach out and wrap his mother in his arms, to have her smack his hands away and insist she was fine and go about making them all lunch. Instead, everyone stayed far away from her, as if any sudden move might scare her off.

"Why… what a pleasant surprise," she croaked in a monotone voice, ghosting forward to give Muriel a kiss on the cheek. She looked dreadful next to his ornate great-great aunt, adorned in her oversized dressing gown and slippers, hair graying and greasier than he'd ever seen it.

"Oh, Molly…" Muriel shook her head, "I knew you were in a bad state, but really now… you've got a house full of children here to look after. You've got to snap out of it."

"We're not children!" Snapped Ginny angrily. Ron noticed Harry stepped closer to her, worry written across his face.

Ron watched sadly as his mum's eyes glazed over with tears, taking in each face in her kitchen. She lingered on Ron.

"Hi, Mum," was all he could manage to utter. He hated seeing her like this. It was worse than not seeing her at all. She closed her eyes and breathed in heavily through her nose, as if needing to compose herself.

"Mrs. Weasley, it's so good to see you," said Harry softly, breaking the uncomfortable silence. Ron wanted to roll his eyes – surely seeing her like this was anything but _good_. But sure enough, his mum opened her eyes and smiled ever so slightly at Harry.

"No need to be a lickspittle, my boy," Muriel said tersely, handing Molly a steaming mug of tea as Molly sat down gingerly at the table.

"You're – you're so _offensive!_ " Ginny shrieked before Harry even had time to comprehend Muriel's insult. She turned on her heel and stomped out of the kitchen, kicking the corner of the trunk on her way out. Harry looked so awkward that Ron nearly laughed out loud, pitying his friend who didn't know whether to stay or go. Harry glanced at Hermione and decided to follow Ginny outside.

"That girl has got some nerve. I'm simply speaking what everyone else is thinking," Muriel muttered, turning her attention to Bromley who now looked downright annoyed. This was probably not what he was expecting when Muriel likely told him that she had something valuable to show him. "Now then, the business at hand…Molly, dear, you remember how I so kindly leant you the gown I had made for Eugenia Jenkins' induction as Minister of Magic?"

"You mean…the dress I married Arthur in?" His mum answered after a long pause.

"Yes, yes, the very one. Well, you never returned it. No need to apologize, dear, you had Bill soon afterwards. And with the war…well, needless to say there was so much else to attend to. But I'll be taking it back now, Molly. You see, Bromley here is selling a collection of vintage gowns and this one has seen quite a bit of history! I imagine we will come to an agreement on it's value, besides, I hardly doubt it fits you anymore, dear," Muriel chuckled, pausing to take a sip of tea.

Ron clenched his fists, furious that all of this disruption was all over a blasted dress that had been collecting dust in the attic for decades. If Hermione hadn't been so near, he would have been uttering words that would have made a sailor recoil. His poor mother, after all she'd been through, was now being accosted for the most ridiculous reason he could imagine. Then, to his utter shock, she started laughing.

His mum had always had a booming laugh, a cackle really, that could be heard echoing off the rafters in the Burrow and used to turn the heads of muggles in King's Cross Station. More times than Ron cared to remember he had ducked his head in shame at his mother's unrestrained laughter, but right now it was one of the most glorious sounds he'd ever heard.

"Molly, really, what ever is so hysterical?" His great-great aunt stared aghast, quite alarmed that the red-haired woman had gone from misery to a fit of laughter so unexpectedly.

His mum managed to settle down enough to choke out, "You – why – _only_ you, Auntie Muriel, would remember a damn dress thirty years later! And you've – come – to take it back!" With that she doubled over in hysterics again, tears streaming down her face as she shook with laughter.

Ron was shocked. He turned to Hermione who was beaming, her eyes also glistening. It dawned on Ron that this was quite literally the happiest he'd seen his mum since Bill and Fleur's wedding, and even then, she hadn't laughed this joyously. Muriel huffed and ordered Bromley to open the trunk, pulling out several lumpy coats before finding the ivory dress. Ron couldn't help it – he began laughing too. He didn't even know why. Hermione began giggling beside him and he decided it was the second most glorious sound he'd heard in a while.

"Expect me for supper tomorrow evening, Molly. It seems my very presence is amusing enough that you seem up to entertaining. I'll accompany Bromley back to London now." With that, the elderly woman and her companion disapparated with the trunk.

An hour later, Molly had showered, changed, and was busying about the kitchen to make dinner in time for Arthur to return from work. Hermione and Ron were in the garden, trying to restore the overgrown Weasley garden, when Ginny and Harry returned.

"What the hell was that all about?" Ginny inquired. The two looked windblown – Ron assumed they'd been out flying. He knew they all (with the exception of Hermione, of course) missed quidditch terribly.

"For once, I think _we_ were the ones who insulted Muriel. She left in a huff because mum started laughing."

"Laughing at what?" Harry asked.

"Er…the situation?" Ron wasn't sure how to answer. He was just glad it happened.

"She seems to be feeling much better, Ginny," Hermione offered kindly, removing her gardening gloves. "I think your auntie's visit did her some good." She added the last part softly, remembering that the windows into the house were open to let in fresh air.

Ron took in Hermione's appearance – she was sweating, having sat beside Ron out in the garden in the heat of the day ripping out weeds. Her hair, having once been pulled back tidily, was now redone in a sloppy bun on top of her head. Rogue curls had escaped at her temples and the nap of her neck, and her freckles were a bit more noticeable against her reddening nose. He felt his heart twist at how bloody gorgeous she was.

"What?" She asked self-consciously, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. "I'm sure I'm disgusting…"

"You're perfect." Ron reached to run his finger over her jaw, enjoying the feel of her warm skin. He was grateful his sister and best mate had wandered back into the house. Hermione smiled at him, leaning forward to peck him lightly on the cheek.

"I want to kiss you again," Ron said, surprising himself with his forwardness. Hermione straightened up on her knees, pursing her lips as she considered what Ron said. "I've really, really wanted to kiss you again, Hermione, but I want to take this slow. We never really had the chance to talk about things, before all shit broke loose. I haven't even asked you on a proper date."

This earned him a dazzling smile and another peck on the cheek from Hermione, who rose to stand and pulled Ron up with her. Standing on her tip-toes, she grasped his forearms and stood close to him.

"I don't need to be asked on a proper date, Ron. I just want you. This. Normalcy. We've been through so much together already…let's enjoy _this_." Her eyes seemed to be searching his thoughtfully.

"But you deserve-"

"We both deserve a summer of flirting, Ron. No need to do anything other than enjoy one another's company."

Ron momentarily lost his train of thought as he focused on her eyelashes. They were so long. And dark. He wanted to touch them, to kiss those too. He was so glad she didn't wear that ruddy makeup that the other girls in her year had caked onto their face. Even the female Death Eaters would have looked loads prettier without so much dark muck about their eyes. He felt a bit breathless as he took in the rest of her pretty face, focused entirely on his. It was a bit too much. Hermione seemed to sense this, as she lowered to the balls of her feet and loosened her grip on his arms.

"Dad'll be home soon. Want to take a shower first?" Ron asked, hoping she wouldn't think he was trying to say she smelled bad. It didn't work.

"Ronald Weasley. Are you implying I smell foul?" She teased, swatting his arm as she backed up. Ron grinned and stepped towards her, attempting to chase her into the house, but ended up tripping over a wooden hand-rake. It swing up and smacked him in the side of the head, causing a dizzying moment where he stumbled into Hermione to still himself.

"Oh, Ron! Are you alright?" Hermione exclaimed, her voice mingled with concern. As she reached to touch his head, a snicker was heard overhead. Ron and Hermione both glanced at each other, unsure of who was laughing.

A window squeaked shut just as Ron looked up, realizing suddenly that George must have witnessed the entertaining incident. Moving into the shade, Ron and Hermione fell silent. It was the first time George had made a peep since they moved back to the Burrow.

Ron couldn't help it – tears leaked from his eyes as he took in what had happened. Hermione was emotional too, lacing her hands in Ron's as the two stood in the awning of the house. She smiled through her tears, tracing her fingers lightly over the angry red bump forming over Ron's cheekbone. Gently, she leaned forward and planted the lightest succession of kisses over the surface of his skin.

"I'd smash my head with a thousand rakes if it makes George happy again."


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thanks to those who informed me of the HTML mess! Hopefully it's fine now! Appreciate your feedback – especially the encouragement! Keeps the writing flowing when I know what people like to read._

All around her, dementors swooped down, scabbing hands reaching out menacingly as she fought to compose herself. There were dozens, circling around her and shrouding the astronomy tower in impossible darkness. Had she ever felt this cold and alone in all her life? Her hands were frighteningly slow as she gripped her wand, stammering as she tried uttering the spell that would fling them away from her. The horrible breathing began to groan louder as they swooped in closer. "Expecto…expecto patronum…" Hermione squeaked, the flicker of light from her wand barely enough to light up her shoes. She was wearing the same filthy pair she'd worn the night of the Battle, the ones she thought she'd tossed months ago.

 _The day she got her Hogwarts letter. Shopping at Diagon Alley for the first time. Saving Buckbeak and Sirius._ The rattling breath came closer, causing the hair on her arms to stand straight up. _Winning the house cup._ _Passing her OWLs. Skipping rocks with Ron. Kissing him during the Final Battle._ As she uttered the spell again, her patronus finally burst forth. The silvery otter shot forward, casting the dementors farther away. However, Hermione noticed that two figures lay facedown that she hadn't seen before, now illuminated by the patronus' ghostly light. Bodies…a man and a woman. Both eerily still, limbs twisted at odd angles. No, it _couldn't_ be…impossible; they were oceans away, weren't they? She'd perfected the charm, hadn't she? There was no way they could have found them, no ounce of information they could divulge if she'd cast the incantations correctly. But there was no mistaking it was them, and Hermione let out the most pitiful wail as she dropped to the floor beside them.

"Shhh, 'Mione," she heard Ron whisper hoarsely, the room suddenly still and hot as she awoke with a start. _Merlin, it was just a dream. Thank heavens._ She tried slowing her breathing, taking in the soft cotton of the sheets on Ron's bed, the familiar smell of the Burrow, the heat of summer air around her. Her eyes adjusted to the pale moonlight, casting shadows of tree branches against the wall opposite the window. Ron's hand was by her face, knuckles resting lightly against her shoulder. He was kneeling by the bed, eyes tight with fatigue as he appeared to have just woken himself, despite it clearly being the middle of the night. Did she scream, cry out? Thrash in the bed so loudly he was roused from his sleep? She could see the dark lump by the door that was Harry in his sleeping bag, and relief flooded her as she heard his methodical snore.

Neither spoke for a moment, though their tired eyes met. Hermione didn't want to ask, and Ron didn't seem to feel it necessary to speak either. Wordlessly the two communicated – she felt Ron inquire her need with concerned eyes and the pressure of his fingers against her shoulder, she scooted over on the bed, and he gently laid down beside her. The anxiety rolled away as Ron snaked a heavy arm around her, cocooning her against his side with a great yawn. As he adjusted into the creaky mattress, she relished the solid form of him so close to her. Though her hands were pressed up against her chest, she longed to stretch out along his body and hold tightly to him, even dare lifting one knee up over his hip to nestle in closer. Had Harry not been so near, she'd peck his jaw and caress the stubble on his face. The sturdy features of a grown up Ron she'd grown to adore. For now, though, she was content to close her eyes and enjoy the feeling of his soft t-shirt against her eyelashes as they fluttered and the steady rise and fall of his chest. Her heart beat wickedly as she delighted in the pressing arm around her back, the pressure of which secured her against him. It was warm but she didn't care. This was the magic she needed to sleep, the only remedy to the consequential horror from her nightmare. She only wished Ron would forget about it so she wouldn't have to explain in the morning.

Exactly twelve hours later, Hermione was still warm, only now it was due to the oppressive sun beating down on her as she beat the rugs against the house. Even using magic it was a tedious task, as the dust would only be fully banished from the carpets if she properly levitated them out of the house and exerted enough force with her wand to cause them to smack against the sturdy exterior wall. _Why did the Weasleys have so many damn rugs?_ She knew she couldn't blame anyone but herself for the awful task as she'd been the one to suggest it and subsequently volunteer to carry it through. Ron and Harry had reluctantly agreed to fetch items for dinner that night, thanks to Mrs. Weasley's impossibly long list, while Ginny and Molly cleaned the kitchen and living room.

A cloud of dust from the burgundy carpet overtook Hermione and she lowered her wand. Coughing loudly, she paused to compose herself. She was frustrated to see that it had fallen to the ground, directly over a wheelbarrow of soot that had no doubt been sitting there since winter at least. "Bugger!"

"Now that's no way for a lady to talk, is it?" Came a dull voice, one Hermione nearly didn't recognize. She straightened up and turned to see George walking towards her, a smirk on his face despite the flat tone. "You alright?"

 _Act normal. Act normal._ "Yes, I'm fine thank you. Just really trying to understand how it is that one rug can accumulate enough dust to put Egypt to shame." The sweltering sun combined with the haze from her chore was causing her eyes to water and burn. It was hard to even look directly at George.

He chuckled, reaching for his wand as he went to work helping Hermione. The only sounds were the repetitive smacking of thick fabric against the walls of the house and the weary croon of music from inside, playing an old jazzy song that reminded Hermione of Professor Lupin's gramophone. The memory caused a physical pang to her heart and she made a mental note to ask someone later about little Teddy.

"What's going on with you and Ickle Ronniekins, m'lady?" George teased once they had finished pummeling the last of the carpets. "Taking up residence together is a big step," he joked, clearly delighting in Hermione's reddening face.

"Harry also-"

"Now now, I don't need to know _all_ the details," he chuckled as Hermione grew more flustered. "How you managed to gallivant across the bleeding country with those two gits is something you ought to write a book about. Fly off the shelves, that would."

"It wasn't exactly a holiday," Hermione murmured, wishing she could change the subject. She didn't enjoy thinking back on those times, when Ron was rarely ever himself and Harry was so stressed. She thought the boys might've come back when a faint pop broke the long silence and echoed about the yard, but no voices came.

"I'm sure it wasn't," came George's soft reply. Hermione looked at him in mild surprise, anticipating that even a gloomy, grieving George would have teased further. He tugged lightly on her ponytail before turning on his heel and disapparating before Hermione could respond. She imagined he was right back up in his room, the one he shared for nearly all his life with Fred, just several stories above where she stood now.

The welcomed crack of Harry and Ron apparating back to the Burrow was a much needed distraction for Hermione, who'd moved on from dusting to sweeping – a chore best done the muggle way. Though she knew she was a sight for sore eyes, Ron's beaming face as he entered the house caused her heart to leap from her chest. Rarely had the two been separated by more than just a trip to the loo or downstairs to gather food since May, and though she felt her anxiety had been a bit dramatic for a simple trip to the market, she still breathed a great sigh of relief when he made his way to her and firmly kissed her on the head.

"Hi. I missed you," Ron whispered, eyes meeting hers as she reached for his hands. Though Hermione knew that all the Weasleys could probably care less, she avoided any public displays of affection. It was still so new, so incredibly fresh for both of them that she was still getting used to the idea that she could hold his hand in front of anyone. Harry and Ginny were a bit bolder, but still respected Ron. Occasionally Hermione would catch Harry wiping a tear from her face or see Ginny cuddled up in his arms, but usually the two would distance themselves from the house and go on walks. When she was home, Ginny usually spent time in her mum's room with the door shut.

Ron looked downright handsome in his navy t-shirt and tan trousers. It was the first time in a while he'd actually put on real clothes to go out of the house, and she'd forgotten how nice he cleaned up. Self-consciousness suddenly poisoned the reunion as Hermione stepped back from him, realizing that she probably looked as bad as she smelled. Ron frowned, letting go of her hand as she moved away from him.

"I should get cleaned up. Everyone'll be here soon, I imagine…" she said awkwardly, hating how quickly she's managed to remove the joyful expression from her boyfriend's face.

"S'pose," he replied, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Meet me outside afterwards?" Before Hermione could walk past him to head upstairs, she smiled and nodded.

"Of course," she answered shyly, well aware that Harry and the others were within earshot. Bounding up the stairs to take a quick shower, Hermione berated herself. _Why are you so_ awkward _? Seriously, did you need to just go and act like Ginny during first year around Harry, for Merlin's sake? It's RON._

Shaking her head, Hermione tried to push her ridiculous behavior behind her and consider the comfort with which she and Ron treated one another since they'd returned to the Burrow. Then the conversation with George resurfaced. _Is it strange that I'm staying in his room? Do the other Weasleys think it's inappropriate? Was that George's way of saying I should sleep somewhere else? But surely they know we're not doing anything…_

"Snap out of it!" Hermione hissed to herself as she scrubbed her body clean, welcoming the warm spray of the shower. Despite the sound of water rushing from the faucet and having the bathroom door firmly closed, she could make out Molly fussing at Arthur for being late, following him up the stairs as she did so. Moments later Ginny and Harry walked loudly by, joking about whether Harry should go by Barney again when Auntie Muriel arrived.

After drying off and changing into a light blue cotton dress she'd rarely ever worn except for summer holidays, Hermione made her way down to the yard and plopped down next to Ron. He turned to her on the grassy knoll, smiling widely as he took in her in.

"Hi gorgeous," he said softly, causing a deep blush to creep over Hermione's cheeks.

"You look handsome yourself," she answered, scooting closer to him as she tucked her knees under her dress. "I missed you today. How was it being out with Harry?"

"No one noticed us. We kept our heads down, and one place we stopped at was mainly muggles anyways."

"Mmm. Well, I'm glad you're back. I don't like us being apart. After so long, it felt like my limbs are missing or something."

Ron turned to stare at her, his eyes bright with curiosity. Hermione gulped, wondering how he'd steer this conversation.

"Last night…" he began softly, intertwining his fingers with her fidgety hand that was unconsciously pulling up blades of grass. "I was worried about you. It's not the first time you've seemed to have such bad dreams. Can you tell me what happens?"

Hermione stared down at the hand enclosed in his, which he'd lifted from the ground to rest on his thigh. A lump formed in her throat as she pondered what to say. Seconds ticked by.

"Is it the Malfoys? What happened at their-?"

"No."

"The battle? What happened at Hogwarts?" He asked earnestly as she shook her head again.

"Can you tell me, love? Please?" The pleading in his voice broke her heart.

The lump grew larger, but she forced herself to speak. Ron deserved to know. She just prayed he wouldn't feel badly. It had been nearly a year since the topic had come up at all, and she'd been so matter-of-fact about it, too. Business-like, even.

"It's my _parents,_ " she croaked, tears suddenly springing to her eyes and sorrow bubbling up in her chest. She wanted to double over and sob, but kept herself as composed as she could as Ron took in her words. His eyebrows narrowed and he looked pointedly at her, clearly not expecting that response.

"You miss them… of course you do. Gods, Hermione, why didn't you say something? Honestly, you hadn't mentioned them in so long I'd –"

"I know!" she cried miserably, grateful now she'd avoided this topic for as long as she did. It was torture to say the words aloud. "What good would it do to tell you how much I long for them? Or wonder how they are, if they're even _alive_." Her voice completely cracked on the last word and Ron pulled her close, enveloping her in a fierce hug. The tears flowed freely now, fogging her vision as she held tightly to him. "I-just-wish-I-knew-" she uttered each word between sobs, "what-to- _do_! I don't-even-know-where to _find them_!"

"Shhhh, I know, darling. We'll find them, I promise. You're brilliant, you are, and I know you hid them well enough that only a mind as clever as yours could trace them back down." His voice was steady. It made Hermione want to believe him.

They remained like that in the yard for some time, Hermione now having moved to sit partially in his lap with her head against his shoulder as Ron stroked her hair, muttering assurances in her ear. Though the tears no longer fell, neither made any effort to move.

The sun was still high in the sky when Arthur called out to the couple, asking if either had seen a copy of the _Evening Prophet_. Ron immediately scoffed, sick of all the speculation and tabloids about the whereabouts of the Golden Trio. Photographers had snapped loads of pictures once the press was allowed access to Hogwarts the day following the final battle, a decision no one at the Ministry owned up to making. _Prophet_ reporters attended most of the funerals, though the Weasleys recognized that Fred had been a public figure with the success of the joke shop and didn't make a fuss. Of course, several lengthy write-ups about Harry, Hermione, and Ron had come out, but all were so vague and detail-less due to refusal from Order members to discuss anything with reporters. Quoted information regarding the three friends came from some obscure classmate or witch who claimed the trio passed by her home during the long hunt for Voldemort's Horcruxes.

"Well…ah, you may want to come have a look," Arthur said lightly, but the concern was in his voice was obvious.

Hermione, though reluctantly, peeled away from Ron and stood to speak to Arthur. "Did they catch Ron and Harry out earlier, Mr. Weasley? To be honest, we don't care too much about what sort of nonsensicality they come up with. We've dealt with it for years now."

"My dear, I think this time may be a bit different. I'll bring you two out a copy – may be best, reading out here…" Arthur turned inside to fetch the _Evening Prophet_.

Hermione turned to Ron, feeling a bit lightheaded. A knot formed in her chest, a horrible idea that it might have something to do with her parents. Ron had paled as well, but rose to stand stoically by her. Their hands linked automatically and Hermione wanted more. Despite knowing Mr. Weasley would return any minute, she closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to Ron's chest. He dropped his grip on her hands and circled his arms around her, closing her in. Hermione felt his chin rest atop her head as they waited.

Arthur returned wordlessly, holding out the paper to Ron. Hermione didn't budge, preferring to hear Ron's reaction before decided whether or not she wanted to face reality. A dizzying sensation morphed to pure dread, as she began to fear the very worst. She couldn't make herself lift her head from her boyfriend's chest, paralyzed by what that damn paper held. Ron would tell her. He'd filter what needed filtering. But why wasn't he talking?

"Merlin's _fucking_ beard!"

 _A/N: Cliffhanger! Sorry about that. I think the next chapter will have a bit more M-rated stuff._


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Thank you for your kind and gracious reviews! I appreciate that so many are following this story. Please, keep your feedback coming. It's nice to know people are enjoying the story._

Ron couldn't believe his eyes. So transfixed was he on the massive title in its legendary print and startling front page photo that he nearly toppled over when Hermione impatiently burst from his embrace. Anxiousness was written all over her face.

"Give me five seconds," he breathed, trying to get a grasp on the tiny words beneath the colossal headline: "GRIEVING GRYFFINDOR HEROINE FINDS AFFECTION IN SURVIVING TWIN."

His eyes narrowed as he moved around the paper, the blood pulsating in his ears.

"Ron," Hermione whimpered uncharacteristically, drawing Ron's eyes to her. She was paler than he'd seen her in some time, arms twisted up by her chest. Her fingernails were digging into her clavicle enough to leave the beginnings of angry red marks. He couldn't be sure, but it seemed as if she was quivering. "Please tell me. I can't stand it!"

"It's a tabloid, I think. Just give me enough time to skim it," he said in what he hoped was a comforting voice. It clearly did nothing for her nerves, as she tensely wrung her hands a few centimeters from the paper.

 _12 July 1998. Miss. Hermione Granger, the unassuming young witch who aided the beloved Harry Potter in his defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named spends her days consorting with entrepreneur George Weasley, of Diagon Alley's Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, also known as Weasley & Weasley (the name itself a reminder that not all survived the Second Wizarding War) reports Betty Braithwaite. The two were seen sharing an intimate moment on the Weasley family compound, home to not just the humble family of Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, but his large brood of ginger children and two of the most renowned Hogwarts students of the age: Miss. Granger and Mr. Potter. It appears the pair have been grafted in not just by their friendship with a Mr. Ronald Weasley, but also tender bonds with his siblings who are still mourning the terrible loss of their brother Fred. _

_It's no secret that Potter was seen leaving Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on 3 May of this year arm-in-arm with inconsolable Miss. Ginevra Weasley, and former classmates confirmed more than friendship appeared to have blossomed between the two in the wake of such loss. Granger, who has had romantic ties with not only Mr. Potter but several other notable suitors (including a tumultuous affair with Bulgarian Quidditch Seeker Viktor Krum) seems to be moving on again swiftly from an alleged relationship with the youngest Weasley son to his older brother._

 _Demanding as the war must have been on the young Hogwarts dropout, one can only imagine the desire Granger must have for stability amid such tragedy. She has no known family and very few close friends outside of the two wizards she went into hiding with last year on the day former Minister Rufus Scrimgeour died._

 _The Daily Prophet can report that none of the Golden Trio have yet to complete any examinations at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries following such traumatic events. Perhaps a deep-seated desire for normalcy and familial love is what keeps Miss. Granger hopping from one wizard to the next. Those who know Granger spoke exclusively to the Daily Prophet, earnestly hoping that she would undergo psychological and emotional testing. "Even as a first year, she was never very childlike," said one concerned friend. "There was always this know-it-all attitude she carried around. Being muggle-born might have a lot to do with it. Perhaps she's still looking to prove something."_

 _The magical community can only thank Miss. Granger and her brave companions for all they've done, and urge her to seek help for behavior – at best, an explicable craving for affection, and promiscuous at worst._

"Bloody hell," Ron seethed through gritted teeth. He could barely stand to look at the moving photo of his brother standing behind Hermione, half-smiling at her as he pulled on her ponytail. It was clearly taken today – Ron remembered the light denim short she'd worn over her outfit to clean up around the Burrow. Hermione adorned the look he'd seen her give him and Harry countless times, reserved for when they were being cheeky. It was certainly not a lustful expression, but he could see how easily misconstrued it might be with the proper wording. It appeared playful on both of their parts.

Ron's head snapped up to look survey the yard, though it was futile as the tall grasses could easily conceal anyone nearby. His father had subtly gone inside and the sun had slipped lower on the horizon. He felt like a sitting duck. Suddenly a large gust of wind whipped the paper from Ron's hands and it flew to the ground, rolling across the grass until Hermione swiftly accio'd it.

"Wait, 'Mione! I promise, you don't want to read it," Ron begged, attempting to snatch it from her. Hermione's hair blew around her face with the motion of wind, making her look a bit like a ragdoll.

"But I must! If it's in the Prophet, Ron, that means _everyone_ will have read it!" There was exasperation in her tone that made his heart shudder.

Suddenly, Ron was filled with liquid rage. Knowing she'd find some way to read it, Ron left her standing as her eyes began fiercely scanning the pages and he stomped towards the edge of the yard. Brazening his wand, he decided to let his anger do a bit of damage.

"Incendio!" Orange and red flames licked the dry ground as a patch of grasses began to burn. Tears welled up in Ron's eyes at the pain he felt knowing that Hermione was once again being subjected to such sensationalist rubbish. That someone was lurking just where the flames began to creep further into the meadow to spy on his girlfriend and family. A fresh wave of fury boiled over and Ron nearly dropped his wand for fear of what spell might impulsively ruin his mother's garden. Before him, the flames turned to smoldering.

He knew he needed to turn around and comfort Hermione. _Grow up, you prat!_ This might be too much for her, he thought miserably. All summer long she'd been magnificent; stoic, gentle, reassuring. He didn't know how he'd have made it without her. His heart ached to think of all the ways she'd cared not just for them but for his family, cleaning their home and preparing food, when neither was her forte. Even more than that, she'd been there for him when sorrow clung to him like water, dragging him deep into despondency. No one else knew how to meet him there except for her. She was just _there_ , so perfectly. He loved her so bloody much.

Before he had the chance to turn and face her, cool arms wound gently around his waist. Ron could feel Hermione's face press against his back, her cheek nuzzling against him quietly. He took several deep breaths, attempting to calm himself before reaching for her arms. Delicately he ran his hands up and down the lengths of her forearms, staring ahead at the sun as it set the sky pink and orange.

"C'mere," Ron whispered, pulling Hermione in front of him. She came easily, her eyes watery as she looked up to meet his gaze. Her chin was set defiantly, but she otherwise looked exhausted. There was a fire flickering in her chocolate eyes, but her body seemed to melt into his as she leaned into him, giving way as if she trusted he might catch her. He didn't know what kind of reaction he was expecting from her analysis of the article, but it certainly wasn't this.

"Honestly, Ron, it's so outlandish that I don't even care. Betty Braithwaite is the silly witch who last wrote a piece on hair potions. It's a stretch to even call her a reporter," she said with such conviction that Ron cracked a smile. Her hair was tousled from the breeze and she shivered lightly, taking a half-step closer towards him.

They locked eyes for a long moment before she leaned her face nearer, closing her eyes before pressing her warm lips against his. It felt like the very best kind of fire, every time. She kissed him sweetly at first before swiping her tongue gently against his bottom lip. Ron granted her entry and the kiss intensified, causing both to moan. He couldn't stand how crazy he was about the taste of her lips, her tongue. Even her breath was sweet and hot and deliciously intoxicating. Ron reciprocated and deepened the kiss, cupping her face firmly between his large hands. His fingers inched higher to bury in her hair and he felt anchored, caring for nothing in the moment but the brunette witch in front of him.

Ron reluctantly broke the kiss first, partly because he needed oxygen and also because he was growing a bit concerned about…well…her lack of concern. They both very well knew article went around to the entire fucking magical community – no question. That's why his father felt the need to alert them immediately. Nearly every person they knew would read this story, or at least hear murmurings of it. What it accused Hermione was horrendous. Ron couldn't get that last sentence out of his head.

"Hermione," he breathed, opening his eyes to watch her carefully, "are you really alright?" She gave him a bemused expression before he continued cautiously. He gulped and began again. "What I mean is –"

"Ronald! Hermione! Come eat before supper grows cold," bellowed his mum from the house. Ron grimaced, wondering if from now on he'd remain paranoid about unwelcome visitors sneaking around the property overhearing something. Hermione seemed to wear the same fear, glancing nervously around before taking his outstretched hand. The offensive _Evening Prophet_ was tucked into Ron's pocket and he tucked it into an empty flower box at the window.

The couple ate in relative silence. His mum and dad were quiet as usual, and discreetly glanced at Hermione every now and then. Ginny and Harry carried on most of the conversation. At one point Ron felt a very light pressure on his thigh and realized without needing to look down that Hermione had set her left hand on his leg, ever so lightly moving her fingers against the fabric of his trousers. He enjoyed the sensation, perhaps a little too much. Merlin only knows how randy Ron could get if he thought too much about the little touches Hermione innocuously provided. This, however, was bold for her, given the proximity to his parents and the others at the table.

"I'll take a plate up to Georgie," his mum said, breaking his reverie. He sensed Hermione's hand tighten and felt her move a bit closer to him, their legs now pressed against one another. He also noticed her stop eating. Was it the mention of George? Ron suddenly felt the need to clear the air and just be out with it. Sooner or later George would have to read about the disparaging article, and certainly Harry and Ginny would have thoughts to share. His skin prickled with agitation.

"Harry, fancy a walk?" He asked, hoping his friend wouldn't ask questions till they were outside. Ron quickly laid his fork down and moved his hand to take Hermione's under the table, rubbing his thumb reassuringly over hers.

"Oh, that's nice. Making the girls clean up, how charming," Ginny grumbled, sticking her tongue out at the boys as they both stood.

"Sure, mate. Quidditch pitch?" Harry asked, ignoring Ginny. Ron thanked Merlin that Harry seemed to sense this was important. He hoped Hermione would take advantage of time with his sister to share with her, but he also knew Ginny wouldn't take the news well (inconsolable was probably one of the words Ginny loathed most). He gulped as he opened the door to head outside. Harry was the easy one.

The sun had fully set by the time they'd lapped the pitch. Ron shared very factually what Betty What's-Her-Face shared and gave Harry time to react. He knew having his name mentioned over and over again by the _Prophet_ bothered Harry to no end, but mentioning Ginny was another story entirely. It took another several laps around the lowly pitch before both boys felt like returning to the house.

By then, the lights in the house were off and Harry stopped in front of Ginny'd bedroom door. "I'll just talk with her for a short while, if…er…it's alright-"

"Don't make it weird, Harry," Ron half-teased, "and give me a few minutes upstairs?" Harry nodded, his ears turning red as his best friend heard him knock lightly on his sister's bedroom door. Ron walked quietly up the creaking stairs, hoping that Hermione was still awake. Sure enough, she was tucked into bed and reading that same horrendously thick book that Shacklebolt gave her.

Hermione looked up as Ron walked in, slowly closing the door behind him. He quickly changed out of his trousers and into sweatpants, keeping his t-shirt on.

"How'd it go, love?" He asked tentatively, making his way to sit on the bed by Hermione's feet. She sighed, setting her book down on her chest. Ron thought she looked very small in comparison.

"Not so well. The bit about George – well, she was reasonably shaken by it. She summoned it so she could read it herself, and I'm not so sure that was for the best," Hermione said delicately. Ron felt a surge of affection for the witch in front of him. He knew Ginny well – better than most anyone else, and he knew her temper. The passion and fiery determination was fierce in his little sister, and it could sometimes explode in unexpected ways. Ron wasn't naïve; he knew this was a trait he also possessed.

"Gin'll be fine. Don't worry," Ron whispered, leaning down to remove the book from the bed. Carefully, he set it down on the table and made sure to bookmark her page. Hermione smiled sweetly at him and moved over a bit on the bed, making room for Ron to lie down beside her. He, however, had other ideas.

"Sit up and scoot this way," Ron told her gently, pulling her forward so that there was enough room for him to inch behind her. He leaned his back against the meager headboard and pulled Hermione back towards him, relishing the feeling of her pressed so fully against his chest. Hermione giggled as the twin bed groaned under the shifting weight. His legs stretched out on either side, trapping her body in the middle. She reached out and grabbed his arms, snaking them across her lap as if she were buckling up in the car. They both sighed contentedly and leaned back, Ron absorbing her weight and Hermione snuggling deeper into his arms.

"Relax," Ron whispered in her ear, ever so gently pressing a kiss to her temple, "I want you to dream the very best dreams tonight. No nightmares allowed." He knew what he was saying probably sounded downright ridiculous, but he meant it with all his heart. Hermione turned her head to the side and strained to meet his eyes.

"Ron, that might be the sweetest thing you've ever said." Hermione teased, but her smile was genuine. He wanted to kiss her so badly, but new Harry would be back up soon. "What happened to the smug prat who said he'd rather I 'hook up with McLaggen' than go to Slughorn's party with me?"

"Oi! I was young and in love and confused. Raging hormones and all. Teenage boys can be prideful bastards around girls they like," he joked, lacing his fingers with her slender ones. "You did look quite lovely that night…that whole year, actually. It was torture."

"You're sweet," Hermione said softly as she turned again in Ron's arms to recline against him. As she shifted, Ron moved his arms to accommodate her and ended up accidently grazing one of her breasts. They both instantly froze.

"Er, that was an acci-"

"No mind, it was actually…kind of nice," Hermione answered quickly, her voice an octave higher than usual. Ron gulped, unsure of what to say. He felt a slight tug on his arm as Hermione slowly lifted it and grabbed hold of his wrist, then very deliberately rested his hand flush against her chest. His palm felt the rise and fall of her breathing, as well as the delicious swell of flesh beneath her thin pajama top. Ron's body went red hot in a flash. Disbelief mingled with lust caused Ron to remain stationary, his hand getting warmer and warmer by the minute.

The sudden creak of stairs caused both of them to leap off the bed, Hermione to scurry around pretending to look for something as Ron muttered something about needing to brush his teeth.

Harry brushed past Ron and headed straight for Hermione. Out of the corner of his eye, Ron saw him pull her into a hug. He knew it pained Harry that fame scorched those around him, and this wasn't the first time Hermione had taken the brunt of it because of him. Hermione shook her head at something he said and Ron decided to head downstairs, trusting that Harry needed to let her know how terribly he felt about the whole thing.

When he returned back upstairs minutes later, he saw that Hermione had curcled up on her side in his bed and Harry was already passed out in the sleeping bag. It was a comforting feeling to have them so close, to know his family members were just a few floors down.

Walking gingerly over to his nest of blankets on the ground, Ron paused to listen in the dark room to hear Hermione's breathing. Nothing. Coming closer, he peered over to see her blinking up at him. Leaning down, he met her gaze and reached to smooth her hair back.

"I love you, darling girl. Sleep well," he whispered. The words simply rolled off his lips in the darkness of his small room. Her eyes shimmered brightly back at him.

"Ron, you're getting quite good at this," Hermione snickered, though she beamed at him widely enough that he could have seen her smile from across the room.

"What?"

"Just being amazingly wonderful," she paused to yawn, "and making me feel better. You astound me sometimes."

"Always the tone of surprise."

 _A/N: Next chapter will be steamier, I promise._


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Had some pretty intense writer's block and also changed jobs, which is why this chapter is coming out so late. Also writing this while finishing up a bottle of rosé…so hopefully it's enjoyable to anyone else aside from me._

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Hermione walked quietly in front of the astute brick house. The night air was chillier than she'd anticipated, causing her to tug her light jacket a bit tighter about her waist. Though the place looked as desolate as the night Wendell and Monica Wilkins emerged last year, Hermione kept her wand close at hand. Her heart twisted with sorrow to stand before the house that had formed her, the only place she'd ever called home before Hogwarts. It looked just like the other homes on the tidy street, with its orderly gardens and trimmed hedges complementing the brown brick and white window frames.

An unwelcome lump formed in her throat as Hermione stepped forward, muttering counter spells to rid the barriers she'd cast over the lot a year ago. A whispered _alohomora_ caused the front door to click open, emitting a dismal creak as Hermione pushed it open and stepped inside.

The downstairs remained unscathed. Nearly all of the fine English furniture had been packed up and shipped to Australia, leaving only a few random household items behind. She was startled to see her father's favorite worn armchair still in the sitting room, looking quite lonely in the otherwise empty room. It was one he always allowed her to perch upon, reading over his shoulder as they tried to solve the crosswords in the paper. Hermione noticed that other peculiar things were left abandoned, including a framed stitch work rose she had made for her mother in primary school and the stainless steel espresso machine she had gifted her parents on Boxing Day during fifth year. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Granger has been fond of knick-knacks, but these were things they had treasured. Hermione wondered why they left them behind.

The darkness cast a bluish hue on the white walls of the hallway as she climbed the staircase, her heart pounding with dread. Sure, the first floor was one thing, but Hermione knew that Death Eaters had ransacked Ron's room quite thoroughly. It was no secret to the Wizarding World that Hermione was Harry Potter's other best friend, and just as likely to have clues as to the Trio's whereabouts. Beneath her the floor groaned as she took one last step, causing her anxiety to skyrocket. The hair on the back of her neck prickled; she sensed something did not quite feel right, and instantly regretted coming alone. From where she stood, she could see right into her father's old study. Without stepping all the way inside the once familiar room, Hermione could make out the moon low in the sky through the window. It was hauntingly bright.

Hermione moved quietly toward the window, longing to look out over the back garden where she had shared so many meals with her parents over summer holidays.

A shadow suddenly passed over the wall and Hermione had to cover her mouth to avoid crying out. Before she could take another step, she heard the crunch of gravel on the path right outside the front of the house. Fear bubbled up in her, but she remained frozen. She needed to move, needed to get back to the Burrow. Just as she was about to apparate, she heard his voice call out to her, banishing her terror as she dissolved into tears.

* * *

Just hours earlier, they had been preparing for Muriel's arrival with the rest of the Weasleys and Harry. Molly had pulled on her worn floral apron, which marked a significant homage to hope of normalcy for the rest of the Weasleys. Arhur's face glowed with happiness when he called through the floo and witnessed the rush of activity, letting his wife know that he'd be sure to pick up some brandy on his way home from work. Harry and Ginny were laughing outside, splashing one another with sudsy water, the wash they were tasked with lay floating abandoned in the aluminum basin. Fleur and Bill had arrived, bringing with them freshly caught fish from the market at Tinworth and delectable French pastries.

George had taken to the only other activity he ever did when he wasn't in his room – flying aimlessly around the old makeshift quidditch pitch alone. When Ron had tried to join him, George simply flew up higher and higher, so Ron let him be and returned to the house.

Hermione made herself available to Mrs. Weasley, chopping vegetables and peeling potatoes. Ron was not as helpful but provided the entertainment, singing loudly out of tune with the favored Celestina Warbeck album that had been dug out of the kitchen junk drawer. The sun shone brightly, causing every window in the house to be pried open to allow in fresh air.

All of this reminded Hermione of the day Bill and Fleur were married. The house had had a similar bustle of rushed preparation, full of cleaning and decorating and baking and cause for celebration. Of course, there was no longer the imminent threat of evil taking over the world nor the embarrassingly overpowering nerves Hermione felt whenever she was around Ron. She had also just obliviated her parents and had no idea if her plan would actually keep them safe, though she had done a fairly good job compartmentalizing those feelings when she arrived at the Burrow that day. However, there were other things in the way of total elation – the absence of Fred (and George to some extent), the fact that Muriel was coming for dinner rather than a wedding celebration, and the looming dread of who might actually believe the nonsense in the previous day's _Prophet_ article. There was also the ever-growing worry about her mother and father, who she had fought to forget about until after the war was over.

Ron unknowingly helped to dispel those dark thoughts as he grasped Hermione's hand, pulling her to her feet and insisting she dance with him to Warbeck's lesser-known _Which Witch Does He Wish For_ , a Weasley family favorite. Hermione laughed out loud at the ridiculous words, delighted in the fact that Ron knew every one by heart.

"Hold on!" Ron managed to bellow before lifting Hermione off her feet and twirling her around, holding her tightly by the waist as she flung her head back and erupted into laughter.

"Watch it, dearies!" Molly cried as she hurried past them, levitating several chairs out to the garden where Bill and Fleur were arranging the table setting. Hermione gasped as she was pulled snugly to Ron's chest, one hand held tightly in his as and the other clinging to his shoulder. Though her boyfriend was much taller, he lowered his face to hers. Hermione met him halfway and they rested their foreheads against each other, slowing down their movement to where they no longer matched the upbeat tune still playing. She was well aware of how close she was to the boy she loved – who had grown up so quickly before her eyes into a man. Her face felt warm and her heart skipped a beat when they made eye contact.

"This is all I want, 'Mione," Ron said in a gravelly voice, eyes swimming. "Being here with you, like this. It's perfect." He looked so happy, his hair tousled from dancing and his face fuller from getting proper food the past several months. Even his cheeks had more color, making him look even more handsome than she remembered.

"Ron…" Hermione whispered, standing up on her toes to get closer to him. She didn't know what to say, but she wanted him to know how pleased she was that he was happy.

So instead she kissed him. His lips melted against hers, warm and soft and inviting. She closed her eyes at the same time his fluttered shut, relishing in the taste of him. It was a sweet kiss – not lacking passion, but full of affection. She wanted him to know how much she adored the person he was.

"Get a room!" Ginny shrieked, sending a pillow flying towards Ron's head. Harry bounded inside after her, an apologetic look etched on his face. Ron broke the kiss, but not before running his hands down Hermione's back and resting on her hips, keeping her close within his embrace.

"Bugger off, Gin," came his gruff reply.

"Mum is about to come inside! You owe me, actually," Ginny yelled, bounding upstairs. Harry collapsed onto the couch, reclining his legs on the coffee table.

"Fancy a game of wizard chess, mate?" Harry didn't really ask as he began assembling the pieces.

Ron didn't respond but looked inquisitively at Hermione, who smiled warmly in response.

"Go on, darling. I'll see you at dinner," Hermione said softly, reaching to pull his hands from her waist. He shot her a positively adorable lopsided smile and kissed the corner of her mouth before releasing her and heading towards Harry.

After showering and changing into a blouse and corduroy skirt she thought conservative enough for Muriel while also making her look feminine, Hermione made her way down to the garden. Ginny had just finished trapping fireflies in jars to illuminate the table, which was heavily adorned with a delicious smelling supper.

"George! Come down now, dear! Auntie Muriel'll be here any min–" Molly yelled right as Arthur apparated into the yard with a pop and leaned in to kiss her cheek, taking her by surprise. Bill, Fleur, Ron, and Harry were already seated at the long table, dinner rolls suspiciously missing from the latter two's plates but present on everyone else's. Fleur and Bill were having an animated conversation with Harry about the French national quidditch team and their recent match with Belgium and Ron seemed mildly interested until Hermione sat down next to him gingerly. He promptly leaned over and kissed her temple, draping his arm over the back of her chair. She echoed his bravery and snuck her hand into his lap, resting it lightly on his leg.

With a pop, Percy apparated and pulled out the chair nearest Harry, eager to chat with him about his future prospects within the ministry. Ginny glumly took the chair next to Percy, clearly irritated that his older brother took her seat at the table.

George shocked everyone a moment later by walking into the garden arm-in-arm with Muriel, who had certainly dressed to impress. What was meant to be a simple dinner party had Muriel adorned in lavish dress robes of emerald and a feathery boa. George also looked a bit overdressed in a burgundy striped suit.

"The belle of the ball has arrived, ladies and gentlemen," George announced pompously. Muriel shot him an incredulous look but remained silent as the group stood to receive her. One by one, each of them kissed Muriel on the cheek, and Molly enveloped her in a famous Mrs. Weasley hug. Once pleasantries were finished, Muriel waited while Arthur scrambled to pull out her chair for her.

"Well now, everyone, it won't stay warm much longer! Go on then, dig in," Molly ordered. Steaming plates and heavy platters were passed around in a whirlwind of activity as all eleven of them were seated and began serving each other. The sun dipped lower on the horizon as the fireflies gloriously illuminated the rustic table setting. Weasley chatter buzzed over the scraping of forks and knives as everyone enjoyed the delicious food. It has been ages since a dinner party of this sort had taken place here, and all was beginning to feel shockingly…normal.

However, Hermione realized with sudden horror that Muriel was watching her intently from down the table. She refused to make eye contact tried to ignore it, but several moments later she still felt the old woman's gaze on her. Hermione willed Ron to read her mind. She reached once again under the table and gripped his knee, hoping she wasn't obvious to anyone else. She felt Ron stiffen and look to her, clearly alarmed.

"You alright?" He murmured softly, after swallowing a mouthful of potato.

"Your aunt…she…well…seems to be paying quite a bit of attention to me," Hermione stammered, trying to keep her lips from moving too much.

"She's what?"

"Shh, Ron, she'll hear you!" Hermione muttered, wishing she hadn't brought it up at all. She shook her head when Ron tried again to understand her and tried to go about chatting with Fleur, pretending that she didn't still sense that Muriel was scrutinizing her every move.

By the time everyone was sipping tea and finishing up their custard tarts, Auntie Muriel cleared her throat. Hermione sank in her seat, fearing the worst. Her suspicions here confirmed when yesterday's _Evening Prophet_ was levitated before the group.

"Anyone care to explain _this,_ or am I going to have to be the one to bring it up?" The old woman hissed, her eyes narrowed at Hermione. Everyone froze except George, whose eyebrows furrowed as he tried to read the headline. The offensive text burned Hermione's vision and all of the blood drained from her face.

"What the bloody hell is this? Is that…is that me and _Hermione_?" George asked in disbelief, snatching the paper to read the finer lines. The offensive text seemed magnified above the ridiculous photo of George pulling teasingly on her hair over and over again.

"Why, Auntie Muriel, surely you know that this was some kind of scandal-seeking gossip columnist – " Molly began but was interrupted by George's cursing.

"You've got to be _shitting_ me! They were here? On our bloody lot? Got nothing better to report on, those cocksucking – " George began, but was cut off by Ginny.

"Honestly, it's bullocks, everyone knows. Not worth giving a damn about, if you ask me – "

"A picture if worth a thousand words, Ginevra. Bless my soul, I dare hope you wouldn't be caught acting like a tart with another suitor like that one over there," boomed Muriel, casting her heavy eyes at Hermione. Everyone turned to look at her. Hermione could feel the heat radiating off her bewildered boyfriend.

Before Ron could react, Hermione had stood up and threw her napkin on the table. Hot, angry tears were already sliding down her face despite her best efforts to remain emotionless. She pushed her chair back and cleared her throat in an effort to sound more confident than she felt in that moment.

"I'm truly sorry if it looked like something it wasn't. If you'll excuse me – "

"It's probably for the best that you go now, dear," Muriel interrupted, "it's clear that your reputation for promiscuity is discoloring this family. We've got enough to worry about as it is without your reckless ways. It's time you returned to whatever family you've got left," Muriel finished, her face set as flint.

Before anyone could utter a word, Hermione did just that. With a pop she was gone.

* * *

"Hermione, it's me! _Hermione_?!" Ron was shouting, getting closer to the house. She knew he was going to find her in quite a state, crying on the dark floor of her childhood home. How he had remembered this place was beyond her. She assumed no one would be able to find her here.

Ron was beginning to sound frantic now, and she felt badly for scaring him. She heard the front door swing open and his hurried footsteps anxiously pacing the floor.

"I'm up here," she cried, wiping at her face with her sleeve. No sooner than she'd knelt to try and stand up was Ron on the ground in front of her, crushing her to his chest. She began to sob then, soaking his shirt with her tears.

"I'm so sorry, love," Ron whispered, his voice shaky. "We should have known that awful woman would have brought it up, it's my fault for not realizing it ahead of time."

Hermione had neither the energy nor conviction to argue with him, so she just cried. Several moments passed with Ron continually apologizing before he stopped talking and just held her, stroking her hair with one hand and resting his face against the top of her head. Eventually he sat up, bringing Hermione with him, and held her fact in his hands.

"Sweetheart, I can't tell you how bloody sorry I am," he croaked, his voice thick with emotion. His unmistakably blue eyes swam before hers, hard to see in the dark. "You know you're family. She's barking."

Hermione sniffed and nodded, eyes brimming over with tears but finally feeling a bit more in control of her emotions. Ron's fingers wiped away her tears and she pulled one of his hands to her mouth, kissing it softly.

"I left without telling you where I was going," she hiccupped, "that probably gave you a fright. I'm sorry."

"Got that right," Ron grimaced, "but you're safe. I've got you."

They remained that way, holding one another in the dark hallway before their legs began to fall asleep uncomfortably. Hermione suggested they find somewhere else to sit and talk. A quick survey of her room showed it as empty as she'd expected. Right before modifying her parents' memories, Hermione had packed away all of her muggle things in the attic except for her small twin bed and empty dresser and destroyed any objects that might give away her identity. Anything seemingly useful she packed in her beaded bag. It had been done methodically, unemotionally. Because of that, she had done a downright splendid job making it look as though this were a pitiful guest bedroom, long uninhabited.

Back downstairs, Hermione pulled Ron to the oversized armchair. He sat down first and she crawled into his lap, laying her head against his shoulder and swinging her legs over the side of the chair. Ron held one arm firmly over her knees and the other around her back, cradling her to him.

"Tell me something," Ron began tentatively, curling a lock of her unruly hair between his fingers."

"Mmm?"

"When are we going to Australia?"

* * *

 _A/N: Ok, so I know I promised that this last chapter would have more M rated stuff, but it just didn't feel right. That's coming next – I do promise this time._


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Dreadfully sorry for the 2+ months of silence! Hoping to update this story another time this week and then at least weekly after that. I'll stop it when the ideas for it run dry!_

* * *

"When are we going to Australia?"

Upon hearing Ron's question, a memory from years ago, clear as day, resurfaced. It had been a hot June afternoon as she dutifully helped her father lug her heavy trunk inside from the car, knowing the nine weeks of holiday ahead of her meant a hiatus from magic. They had just returned home from King's Cross Station following Hermione's fateful fifth year. Typically she was buzzing the entire drive home with updates from the backseat, filling her parents in on the fascinating things she was learning at her curious school, tucked so far away from anything they knew.

Hermione did not plan to fill her mother and father in on the Department of Mysteries skirmish. The less they knew, she was learning, was for the best. A short white lie about a falling bookshelf had explained away the injury she had acquired to her chest from Dolohov's unknown spell, which of course had left no visible mark but a fair amount of soreness. Thankfully, Hermione was now down to taking only three of the previous ten potions prescribed by Madam Pomfrey.

"Darling, we're just so glad you're back," her father heaved as they trudged up the steps, Hermione lifting the back end of her trunk as the mild-mannered dentist precariously walked backwards with the other side. "Mum and I were wondering if you might care for Midsummer House tonight. How does that sound?"

While unpacking her school things, Hermione had felt an unfamiliar pang of anxiety that replaced the standard feelings of comfort being home. Paranoid, she searched under her bed, in her closet, and in every room upstairs before placing her wand in the drawer by her bedside. While she knew performing magic was out of the question, just having it nearby provided a necessary sense of security after the recent encounter with Death Eaters. Her family's spotless, quiet residence and orderly way of life contrasted so sharply with the vibrant chaos of the wizarding world. She enjoyed both environments, but the former felt less and less like home as she returned each summer. A certain kind of sadness blossomed as Hermione considered how little her mother and father truly understood about the dark perils that now faced muggles, witches, and wizards alike.

Over glasses of sauvignon blanc (the cabernet stained the teeth too much for the Grangers' liking) at home after dinner, Hermione tried to dodge any questions about Harry and Ron. She felt closer to them than ever, and it felt peculiar to miss them so much after only just bidding them farewell. Poor Harry, still grappling with the aching loss of Sirius, had been polite while greeting her parents but couldn't completely hide the grief behind a forced smile. The Weasleys had looked more disheveled than usual, distracted with getting everyone out of the station. Saying goodbye to Ron had been uncomfortable, to say the least – a lingering hug, a wince from Ron as Hermione gripped his arm just a tad too tightly, and a lack of words from either of them as they prepared to face a summer of communicating by owl. The last few weeks had been traumatizing. It was odd to pretend none of it had happened at all.

"Tell us about the boys, darling. Any plans to get together before September?" Her mum's calming voice didn't manage to pacify Hermione's unease. Gripping her wine stem, Hermione thought out her response carefully.

"They're both well, Mum," she took a deep sip before continuing. "Actually, I've made great friends with some of the girls in my year. Sharing a dormitory makes for fast friendships." She knew Ron's jaw would have dropped had he heard Hermione tell such a fib. The familiar image of Parvati and Lavendar giggling to one another was enough to make her want to change the subject.

"How has the practice been? Will work slow down a bit now?" Hermione asked tentatively, not wanting to give the impression that she was avoiding the topic. Her father's face broke out into a big smile, his eyes meeting his wife's.

"We'll slow it down to three days a week beginning July, and then take a holiday as usual. Have you given any thought to where we might want to spend a week or two in August? It's been years since we went to the Cotswolds."

The conversation folded into comfortable banter about holidays and pesky clients and Hermione's intolerance for strong wine (butterbeer, she reminded them, didn't quite pack the same punch). Immediately before retiring upstairs, she remembered to ask her mother if she would be willing to take her shopping for some new summer clothes.

"Of course, darling. We'll make a day of it. There's a lovely little boutique owned by two of our patients. They're from Melbourne, right, Simon?"

"The Lockerys? No – Brisbane, I think," her father called from the kitchen. "When you graduate from school, darling, let's not entertain little trips to the Cotswolds and instead take a dream holiday to the land down under! Now that would be worth closing the practice down for a month, if you ask me. I just finished a riveting documentary on the BBC about wallabies."

Her mother laughed heartily in response, joking about her husband's recent fascination with animals in the bush before kissing her daughter goodnight.

* * *

"Ron?" she whispered, realizing it had been a while since he spoke and she'd yet to respond.

Instead of answering audibly, he nuzzled her temple. It was so dark in the room that Hermione would have had trouble seeing Ron's face even if she tried. His breath was steady as she felt his chest rise and fall against the side of her torso. She felt deliciously warm in his lap.

"I'd love if you came with me…but a lot has to happen before I can actually go. I need to speak with the ministry, and get all my savings from – "

"We'll make it happen. Soon." Came his firm response, punctuated by squeeze from the hand resting on her knees.

Love for him swelled within her – so much so that she felt a bit woozy with adoration. Without really thinking, she pulled herself from his grip to turn on his lap. Before Ron could even register what was happening, she had turned fully to face him and buried her knees on either side of his torso. They were so close that she could smell his sweet breath, feel the warmth radiating from his strong chest. Though harder than she intended, Hermione clasped both hands to his face to hold him still as she peppered his face with frantic kisses. By the time she had planted a half-dozen and was making about to land a searing kiss on his lips, he gently took her hands in his and pulled back.

"'Mione?" he whispered, resting his forehead to hers. The moon had illuminated their corner of the sitting room enough that his eyes shone fiercely against the shadows of his face. She closed her eyes and leaned forward, snaking her tongue against his lower lip. Immediately he granted her access, opening his mouth and meeting her halfway. He tasted so sweet and sugary, warm and inviting. Ron was a firm yet gentle kisser, tender while Hermione was zealous. She couldn't get enough of him.

Hermione felt her knees slip down deeper into the cushions as she straddled Ron. His strong hands dipped back to hold her at the base of her spine, keeping her steady as she nudged even closer to him. Her hands roved from his face to his shoulders and then the back of his head as her lips and tongue claimed dominance against his. Their labored breathing picked up as Hermione cemented herself as close to him as she could, savoring the solid feeling of him against her. A slight shift forward, however, caused emitted a sharp gasp from Ron.

"S-sorry," he winced, gripping the tops of her thighs. She worried that her weight might be crushing him, though he'd never seemed hindered by that before.

"No, no…you don't need to move off. Just…takes some getting used to," he chuckled in a strained voice, making her more bewildered. Hermione soon realized exactly what he was referring to, as she glanced down and noticed the strained bulge against his trousers.

She debated just climbing off his lap and apparating them back to his room. She also considered adjusting her weight so that she was no longer straddling him, perhaps back to their original position in the armchair with her legs safely deposited over one side. But then, she realized, no one bloody cared that they were snogging in the middle of her abandoned childhood home. In the dark. After she had been humiliated at his home in front of his entire family. She was in love with the man in front of her, and he loved her too.

Sod it.

Ron groaned as Hermione slipped one hand down to his stomach, pushing his shirt up as she attempted to undo the button on his trousers. The zipper came easily after that, and she returned to kissing him.

Ron was returning kiss for kiss, his tongue battling hers, but he hissed as her cool hands roamed beneath the elastic band of his pants. Her body was positively thrumming.

"Take these off," she whispered between kisses, shocking even herself with the casual yet demanding tone in her voice. He paused only a second before lifting his hips and yanking his trousers off, shimmying them the rest of the way down his legs – a feat quite impressive in the dark with a writhing Hermione still on his lap.

The heat from his skin against hers was enough to make her moan throatily, grateful that no one was around to hear them. Reaching both arms to the hem of her blouse, she gracefully peeled off the material before going to work on Ron's shirt. Both were chest to chest in seconds, relishing in the contact.

"I love you," Ron murmured, his arms rubbing up and down her back. "I love you so bloody much." She shivered at the conviction in his deep voice, at the feeling of it reverberating through his body and onto hers. Another flash of heat went straight to her core.

"Mmm, show me," she sighed, planting open-mouthed kisses against his chest. Light red hairs twisted and curled against the expanse of freckly skin.

She felt one of Ron's move from her back to her side, cascading up her ribcage until it reached her bra. Ever so lightly, his fingers crept under the fabric until it reached the swell of her breast. Without missing a beat, Hermione arched into him, eliciting a hiss of approval as his index finger brushed over her sensitive nipple. Both of her hands, which had been resting against his shoulders, quickly went to work removing the offensive garment. Despite the desperation she felt to remove every offensive article of clothing left, Hermione was suddenly very grateful for the darkness of the room as she fully exposed her upper half.

Her right breast was immediately covered by Ron's large hand. The other was deliciously encased by his curious mouth, the pleasant warmth of which took her by surprise. She couldn't help but begin to grind against his lap, captivated by the assault on her chest. He licked and suckled so gently that she gave a strangled cry when she felt him bite her hardened peak unexpectedly. One hand steadied herself on his shoulder as the other wove into his ginger locks.

"Ohmygod, Ron…" she groaned, overcome with sensation. Her body was on fire. He switched sides and lavished her other breast while giving a light pinch with his thumb and forefinger, causing her to emit a sound halfway between a growl and a squeak.

His boxers and her kickers still separated them, though Hermione's forgotten skirt had ridden up and bunched at her midsection. Ron lifted his mouth from her chest to capture her lips, both hands grasping her breasts and kneading lightly.

"More," she panted before returning his kiss. Both of them were breathing rapidly, caught up in need for one another. She felt feverish with desire. Ron's fingertips ran lightly all over her damp skin, followed shortly by his lips. Hermione shuddered as one of his hands bravely lowered down her body, carefully caressing her drenched knickers. The sensation was nearly electric – Hermione gasped and threw her head back as two fingers pulled aside the material and slipped along her folds.

"Fuck! Hermione," Ron groaned, her name sounding like a curse word itself as he felt the evidence of her desire engulf his digits. Hermione involuntarily thrust forward, lifting and lowering her hips to urge him to move. Her knuckles whitened as she grasped the edge of the armchair, desperate for the friction to reach its climax.

Ron's head dropped to her shoulder as he concentrated fully on the task at hand. Hermione bit down on her lip to keep from screaming as his fingers dug deeper inside, stroking harder, relishing in the delicious fog that clouded her mind.

"Ron," she panted, unsure of what she was asking for. He lifted his head and paused his ministrations, moving his forehead to rest against her sweaty one.

"Alright?" he whispered, running his other hand soothingly up and down her back. His hair was wild about him. Hermione could only imagine how hers looked right now.

"Please…" she whined, lifting her hips to urge him forward. Ron twitched beneath her and she suddenly realized that he must be eager for relief as well. Stabilizing herself, she moved one arm to snake down over his tight boxers. He hissed and grabbed her hand, stilling any movement she was about to make.

"You…first. You're close," he managed to utter. Before she could respond, he was pumping in and out of her quickly. The ache built, pulling her higher and higher to that desperate place where she longed for relief. Hermione simply writhed on his lap, delighting in the renewed fervor of his hand inside her.

Suddenly he readjusted his hand, moving his fingers to press firmly against her bundle of nerves. Almost as if he anticipated her undoing, Ron captured her lips in a searing kiss as Hermione's stomach twisted in the most delightful way. She came immediately, muscles clenching and twitching as her release flooded out.

Ron removed his hand from her knickers as she fell limp against him, face against his neck. Automatically his arms shot around her body to hold him tightly against him. She felt him kiss the top of her head almost reverently. They sat like that in the dark room for several moments before Hermione realized she was going to fall asleep, basking in the aftereffects of her orgasm. Selfishly, she wanted to curl up and succumb to the exhaustion, but she knew Ron deserved some pleasure as well.

Only he was a perfect gentleman.

"S'alright, love. Relax," he whispered, moving his large hand across her back to pull her hair off to the side. She wanted to cry in that moment, knowing full well that Ron was randy as ever (evidenced by the bulge she still felt between them). "I've got you," came his faint voice, punctuated again by a firm kiss to her head.

She closed her eyes yet again, content to lay against his solid chest. While Hermione knew they couldn't sit there forever, she nearly cursed out loud when a bright light burst into the middle of the room, landing on the floor and solidifying a silvery weasel.

"Please return to the Burrow," came Arthur's measured voice. "Muriel is gone. Everyone here wants you both home. We're so sorry for what happened." Mr. Weasley's voice broke as he finished, dissolving the patronus.

Ron didn't utter a word. A moment passed before Hermione resolutely lifted her head, an involuntary sigh escaping her lips. Ron reached down to get his shirt, brusquely pulling it over his head. Hermione gently climbed off his lap, accepting his steadying hand, as she stood to gather her discarded clothes as well.

"Well, that's certainly never something I expected to happen in my parents' sitting room," Hermione teased, smoothing her skirt down over her thighs. Ron smirked, running a hand through his unruly hair.

"If it were, I might be a little concerned," Ron mocked, blocking Hermione's rebuking hand as it swiped at him.

In a moment of seriousness, they stood in front of one another, eyes locked. Ron cleared his throat before taking her hand, intertwining her delicate fingers with his calloused ones. The intensity of his gaze made her feel slightly woozy again.

"No one gets to talk _to_ you or _about_ you like that, ever again. I'm sorry that I didn't react sooner," Ron began, his voice thick with emotion. Hermione tried to interrupt but he squeezed her hand tightly, eager to finish. "You are _everything_ to me, Hermione Granger. Nothing in the whole damn world means more to me. I promised I'd die before I let anyone lay a finger on you again."

Hermione felt her eyes begin to brim over with tears. Ron rarely spoke like this – it was jarring to hear him articulated anything with such assurance.

"Tonight took me off guard – like I said, the woman's batshit crazy. I wish I could have seen that coming, with the _Prophet_ – "

"Shhh," Hermione soothed, squeezing his hand. "I don't blame you at all, Ron."

"Not even my own flesh and blood are allowed to treat you like that, ever again. After you left…" Ron gulped, breaking eye contact to stare at their conjoined hands. "I swore to her that I'd choose you a million times over. I don't even think I made any bloody sense. Bill was having to hold me back – I was shouting and just…just losing it, 'Mione. Everyone thought I was about to hex her." His blue eyes snapped back to hers. "Then you know what she told me?"

Hermione shook her head, eyes darting back and forth between his.

"If she means that much to you, why are you still standing here?" Ron imitated her crackly voice and laughed sardonically, clearly amused at the line. Hermione smiled faintly, taking a step closer.

"If she only knew what her words led to," Hermione said cheekily, anticipating Ron would understand her innuendo. His eyebrows furrowed, clearly confused at her meaning. "Honestly, Ron? Do I have to spell it out?" Hermione laughed, wrapping her arms loosely around his torso. "Must be because you haven't had your turn yet…" she smirked, surprised by her own flirtatiousness.

Ron's face turned bright red as he clearly caught on. "Well, no time like the present. That tosser Harry Potter better not be in my bedroom." With a crack, he disapparated both them from one reality to the other.

* * *

 _A/N: Writing smutty chapters feels so strange. Hopefully this one helped get us closer to the "M' rating._


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: I'm baaaaack! So sorry for the prolonged hiatus on this story. I got too excited about the other ones, but realized this has way more followers than any of my others, so I need to give this some attention._

 _That being said, please do check out my two other ongoing stories – Anapneo (a suspenseful fic where Hermione goes missing) and Notwithstanding (a Ron/Hermione break-up love story). Notwithstanding in particular is about to get the best chapter ever. I just need a wee bit more inspiration. Please let me know if you're following it!_

 _Enjoy xx_

* * *

The water was positively frigid. Hermione assumed that might be the case from being the last one to bathe that night, but the icy water still took her breath away. She rinsed her curls under the cold stream, tensing her body as the water made contact with her skin. How many showers had she had in this little bathroom? With a pensive sigh, she recalled how nervous she used get when exiting in her dressing gown, worried that Ron or one of his brothers might bump into her as she made her way to Ginny's room to change. She smirked, thinking of how cautious Ron must have been doing the same thing, were a mere towel wrapped about his waist.

When she had stood beneath the spray long enough to start shivering, she turned the creaking faucet off and dried herself. _What a day it had been._ The open window brought in the chirping of insects and rustle of the overgrown grass in the light evening breeze. A peaceful quiet hung in the air. She allowed peace to wash over her. _This_ felt like home – not the place she had grown up. Perhaps when mum and dad returned, she would feel differently.

Her hair frizzed madly, stimulated by the humid air. Grabbing her brush, Hermione yanked it through her mane in an effort to untangle it while it was still wet. A sudden knock on the door caused her to jump with a start, dropping the brush as it hung in her tresses.

"Sorry, Hermione – it's Harry. I've really got to use the loo, if you don't mind…" he called, his voice muffled from behind the door. Exhaling loudly, Hermione threw on her dressing gown and gathered her hair into a top knot. As she swung open the door, her raven-haired best friend was standing an inch away.

"Merlin, Harry, it's a good thing you told me you were here. I would have woken the whole house if I saw you lurking like that," she quipped, taking in the wizard before her.

"M'sorry," he said again. His glasses were missing and he squinted at her. Seeing him without them reminded her of the horcrux hunt, watching him sleep fitfully in his camp bed. He looked younger without them. His lightning bolt scare was also more noticeable.

Hermione tried to inch around him but he stopped her, putting a hand out gently as if to calm a wild creature.

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for earlier," he began, lowering his arm. "What happened at dinner. It just took me by surprise…I didn't know what to say. None of us did, it all happened so quickly. Right after you left-"

"It's fine, Harry," the brunette sighed, wishing she had finished her shower a few moments earlier to avoid this conversation in the hallway. "Honestly, I'm alright."

Harry shrugged one shoulder, still squinting at her.

"I thought you had to use the loo?"

"I do. Had to about ten minutes ago," he smirked. "Just want to let you know how much that bloke upstairs cares for you. I've never seen him get so angry about anything unless it involves you."

"Oh yes, we all remember the great Scabbers-Crookshanks brawl."

"I don't mean like that. Any time you've been hurt, or called something ridiculous or offensive, he loses his mind. Hell hath no fury like Ronald Weasley."

"Do you know where that line comes from?"

"What?" Harry asked quizzically.

" _Hell hath no fury_. You didn't finish it – it's a from a play by William Congreve. _Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned._ Or something like that – it's been misquoted countless times."

Harry laughed and shook his head. "Well then, hell hath no fury like Ronald Weasley when Hermione Granger is scorned. And it pissed me off, too. I'm sorry about what happened, and about the _Prophet_. If it helps, I've had my fair share of misrepresentation. We can be scorned together. If we show up on Diagon Alley tomorrow and barely acknowledge one another, they might print our wedding announcement," he teased.

"You know that doesn't make me feel better, Harry," Hermione chided, but she softened her gaze at the man before her. They had been through so much together. She knew he knew her character better than almost anyone in the world. "But thank you."

"Of course. We all love you, Hermione. None of us would've made it without you. Now, if you don't mind, I really need to-"

"All yours!" she smiled, walking gingerly back up the winding stairs.

* * *

Hermione couldn't sleep. The air in Ron's room felt hot and stagnant, despite all of the windows flung wide open to let in what little breeze came through. Harry had returned to Ron's room minutes after she got back and promptly zipped into his sleeping bag, while Ron was already dozing fast asleep on the twin bed she normally took. She knew he'd get angry if he woke to find out she traded the bed for his usual tangled nest of blankets, but it wasn't sensible for her to always take the mattress. If she climbed into bed with him now, he'd surely wake up and move. She could sleep on the floor just as well as he could, for goodness sakes.

Unfortunately, an hour later Hermione regretted her decision. Two sets of snores seemed to be competing with one another. Even a pillow pulled over her head wouldn't mask the noise. She was accustomed to the sounds, but suddenly found herself unreasonably distracted.

Against her better judgment, she replayed the dinner in vivid detail – Muriel arriving and just _staring_ at her, the _Prophet_ rolled out for everyone to see, the flabbergasted look on George's face, the loneliness of her childhood home. All of it looped back over and over like a broken gramophone.

Her mind traveled over the past few days and weeks, trying to think about pleasant things to dream about. She recalled the lazy way Ron would pull her towards him in the mornings, whispering in her ear the silly nothings she had only read about lovers doing in novels. His strong hands, calloused and freckled, soothing her hair back from her face. Hermione felt herself beginning to drift off, memories of Ron calming her senses.

But something shifted. Those hands were bloodied, filthy. They weren't Ron's hands at all, but gnarled and coated in sparse, coarse hairs. His sweet breath was replaced with that foul, rotting scent, bad enough to cause her nose to wrinkle in repulsion. Hot breath in her ear, whispered endearments now menacing threats. _"Reckon she'll let me have a bit of the girl when she's finished with her?"_

 _No. No she won't. She'll just kill you if you don't tell her what she wants to hear. She wants to know where the sword came from. Don't tell her. You mustn't tell her._

* * *

She woke with a start, noticing that someone was shaking her shoulder quite violently. Without thinking she wrenched the hand away from her, reaching frantically for her wand with the other.

"Hey! It's just me," Harry hissed, hovering over her but keeping a safe distance. It was still pitch black in the room. She only knew it was him from the sound of his voice, but her eyes gradually adjusted to the shapes and shadows of Ron's bedroom. "Were you having another bad dream?"

Filled with embarrassment, Hermione groaned quietly. _This couldn't become a habit._ Thankfully she still heard the snores from across the room, realizing with a flood of relief that Ron was still dozing away.

"Can you stand up?" Harry whispered, not really asking as he tugged her up and quietly began rearranging her blankets. She knelt nearby, confused as to how refolded blankets would sooth her back to sleep. Before she could say anything, Harry slowly unzipped his plush sleeping bag and laid it down across the floor, creating a pad on the ground. Throwing both of their pillows over top of it, he patted the spot and beckoned Hermione to lie back down.

"Harry, you really don't-"

He shushed her nonchalantly and laid down heavily beside her, tugging the blankets across both of them. Harry overshot and it fell across her face, forcing her to stifle the chuckle so she wouldn't wake Ron.

She felt Harry turn towards her on his side. Gratitude for her kind, brave, thoughtful best friend hit her like a ton of bricks. A lump formed in her throat.

"Thanks," she whispered, turning her head so that she faced him. She could make out his mess of hair and the outline of his jaw against the white pillow, but otherwise the darkness concealed whatever expression was written across his face. She heard him yawn lazily.

"When I was at Privet Drive," he began, his voice deep and low, "I used to wish for friends I could have sleepovers with. There was something comforting about that idea, for some reason." He paused and the witch held her tongue. Harry rarely opened up about life before and in-between Hogwarts. "I knew there was a fat chance the Dursleys would ever entertain one of my "freakish friends" coming over, but I also didn't really have any good friends. And the people I did play with, I couldn't let know that I was fed through a cat flap," he chuckled bitterly.

Hermione winced – she couldn't help it. Rage burned towards those cowardly people, who should have loved Harry for the incredible person he was. At the very least, those horrendous relatives of his should have respected him enough to treat him like a human being. She felt a hot, angry tear fall down her face and pool at her cheek before absorbing into the pillow, and she was glad that Harry couldn't see her. She drew in a shuddering breath before responding.

"I never had sleepovers because no one wanted to be my friend," Hermione whispered, realizing that her shaky voice was epically failing to conceal her emotion. She wasn't teary remembering her own experience, but learning of his. He didn't need to know tht, though. "Bookworm, geek, know-it-all, bossypants….no one would have had fun at my house anyway. I would have just read while they chatted with my parents," she said half-jokingly.

"Well, we'll have more than made up for missed sleepovers from our childhood with the lives we've lived," Harry replied, a smile evident in his words. "Would have been fun to have you and Ron and Ginny around as kids, though."

Hermione yawned this time. It was a happy thought, to imagine what life would have been like had they met before age eleven.

"You two would have ganged up on me, Harry Potter. Don't even deny it," she quipped. "Only that horrid troll on Halloween could have brought us together. Guess we have Voldemort to thank for our friendship, wouldn't you say?"

There was a long pause. Hermione worried if she had said the wrong thing, but right as she was about to apologize, she felt Harry shake with laughter next to her. For a moment she thought he was convulsing, but then she heard the hissing sound of him trying and failing to mask his laughter.

Perhaps it was the pressure to hold in her giggles, or Harry's unexpected reaction, or the ridiculousness of what she had said, but Hermione felt her sides ache with pent up amusement. Harry was clearly suffering as well as a few chuckles escaped. She shushed him gently when the snores subsided. They both visibly relaxed, breath evening out.

"Needed that," he whispered, evidence of laughter still traced in his voice.

"Me too."

"No, what you need is _sleep_. What normally helps?" Harry asked, sounding more alert than he had earlier.

"Reading used to, but I'm not sure it has the same affect."

Harry was quiet, and for a moment she wondered if he had fallen asleep. She felt him shift, however, and then he spoke.

"Can you tell me the _Tales of Beedle the Bard?_ " Harry asked quietly.

" _All_ of them?" Hermione asked, unsure of how in the world that was going to help her sleep. She'd need to get her wand for light, and track down where that old worn copy was.

"No, just the one you remember best by heart," Harry answered through another yawn. "Doesn't have to be perfect. I won't know any different."

Hermione closed her eyes and focused. She had read and reread those stories hundreds of times in such a short period. Her favorite story by far had been _The Fountain of Fair Fortune._

"Alright, then. Close your eyes and go to sleep," she soothed, feeling somehow that this would aid Harry in falling to sleep a whole lot more than herself. "High on a hill in an enchanted garden, enclosed by tall walls and protected by strong magic, flowed the Fountain of Fair Fortune…"

* * *

Hermione awoke to the strangest sensation – she was being lifted up high into the air, then felt solid ground form gently beneath her. She curled tightly into a ball, confused at what was happening. She was having such wonderful, delightful dreams. But what made her fly? She fought to gain hold of the visions in her head, but they vanished like mist. She was all too keenly aware of the bright light behind her eyelids, making reality burst forth as quickly as her dream evaporated.

She was back in Ron's bed. She opened her eyes wearily, turning to find her red-headed boyfriend pulling a shirt on over his head. Hermione turned on her side to face him, matching his small smile as his head popped through. He walked slowly towards her, bending a knee to perch haphazardly beside the witch.

"Hi," she whispered, unable to see if Harry was still sleeping on the floor in their makeshift bed. Ron must have sensed her concern, because he leaned over to plant a kiss her on her head.

"He went down to start making breakfast," Ron said at a normal volume. He softened his smile and ran his hand up her arm gently. "I didn't mean to wake you. Just thought you might be more comfortable up here. You should have kicked me off."

Hermione stretched slowly, feeling a bit like Crookshanks after a long kip. Ron blushed, causing the witch to chuckle and scoot over so the lanky wizard had room to lay out beside her.

"Everything alright last night? Sorry I didn't wait up for-"

Hermione shushed him with one finger over his mouth, silencing the unnecessary apology. Dazzling blue eyes met sleepy, chocolate brown. His lips parted and he bared his teeth, capturing her index finger lightly. Hermione yelped and yanked her hand away, laughing as Ron dove towards her and kissed her on the neck. Her playful laughter turned quickly to a moan as his lips fitted against the column of her neck. Damn him – he knew this was her weak spot.

A loud rap on the door caused both of them to bolt up into sitting positions, her cheeks rapidly turning pink as his ears burned crimson.

"Er, just coming to tell you that the food is ready," Ginny announced loudly, dramatically covering her eyes with her forearm. "Clothes mandatory, inappropriate touching forbidden."

Ron threw a pillow at her, which his sister promptly caught and tossed back even harder. Hermione huffed teasingly and rose, feeling her stomach twist and groan in anticipation of real food. She hadn't eaten much last night, after all.

"Last one down has to try Harry's burnt sausage," Ginny cried, turning on her heel to race down the steps. Ron charged after her, bellowing that no one was ever allowed to reference Harry's sausage around him again – especially his sister.

* * *

 _Next chapter will play more into the Prophet mess. Please leave a review and let me know what you think!_


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Dear friends! I am so sorry for taking ages to get this chapter up. Life got in the way._

 _I recently enjoyed watching the HP films being shown in the Syfy channel while in the US for work (I live in Germany half the year :P) and it sent me back to FFN after a loooong hiatus from reading and writing stories. I was overcome with gratitude that there are so many talented writers who share their ideas and stories with all of us FOR FREE! And that there are people who take the time to tell me if they like one of my stories, or share ideas for making them better. What a gift it is to have a world in which to dive deeper into all these characters we love so much._

 _Anyway, hoping that there are many more stories to come from both my brain and those of you who are so gifted at crating Romione goodness._

 _Ok, taking a seat now. Enjoy this chapter xx_

* * *

"Honestly, is this necessary?" his girlfriend asked apprehensively, smoothing her skirt as they stepped into the ornate lobby. A few heads turned their direction. One wizard in particular, a spindly man with a thin moustache, stopped in his tracks and caused two witches to bump into him and nearly topple over. Already lined up along a barrier for the press were several journalists and onlookers. The very sight spiked Ron's anxiety. A podium had been placed on a small raised marble platform, donning three signs with their names on them. Two wizards Ron immediately recognized as security aids were standing nearby, wands unconcealed and faces stern.

"It's a little late to back out now," Harry replied before Ron could come up with something comforting to say. "Besides, Kingsley thinks this might put a cork in it for at least a little while."

"Give the people what they want," he heard Hermione mutter bitterly under her breath. Her hair had been perfectly done – not a wayward curl in sight. He reached down and squeezed her hand, his heart skipping a beat when she squeezed back. He wanted to kiss her. The morning rush to get ready for the interview at nine had eliminated their normal lie-in.

"S'pose they want us over there?" Harry asked, fidgeting with his tie. His gray suit was sharp and fit well, making Harry look several years older and much more dashing. Ron suspected the ladies would swoon when his photo graced the papers. He was far more formally dressed than Ron, who had just put on nicer trousers and a button down. Before they could take a step in that direction, the press manager for the Ministry of Magic cornered them with two assistants. One of them fluttered around, picking a loose hair off Hermione's shoulder and muttering a quick dewrinkling charm on the bottom of Harry's trousers. Ron gave her a warning look when she approached him, causing her to shirk back lightly.

Ron couldn't pay attention to a word that was being said to them. He was too preoccupied with the increasing number of people filling into the massive room, pausing on their way to work to catch a glimpse of their little group. He thought he overheard his and Hermione's names over the shouts of, " _Harry Potter? Is that really him?"_

"…we understand you agreed to ten minutes of questioning, but perhaps, we hoped you might-"

"No. Ten minutes," Ron interrupted sharply. Hermione stiffened next to him but let out a relieved breath, still clasping his hand. "We also reserve the right to ignore ridiculous questions. Can we get on with it?"

He heard Hermione whisper his name softly, calming him down. They met eyes and he saw the worry swimming in her orbs, her mouth draw tightly. He knew she was anxious. This was the first time they were going public since the war ended. She gently loosened her hand from his and reached up to smooth down a piece of his hair he hadn't allowed the restless assistant to touch. He smirked at Hermione, delighting in the crinkle in her nose as she offered him one back.

"Alright then, ten minutes it is," the witch said briskly, ushering them over to the growing semi-circle of journalists. "Hermione, darling, you'll just be there on the left. Harry, dear, in the middle, and Ronald-"

"Ron in the middle. I'll just stand here," Harry offered, reaching over to swap the little signs with their names boldly.

"B-but, I think it would be best…" the witch started, visibly uncomfortable.

"There. Perfect. Let's get going, shall we?" Harry asked assertively, rubbing his hands together.

The intricate miniature memorial to the Fallen Fifty was wheeled out by two wizards who placed it alongside them. The disgruntled witch moved on to give them the same long list of instructions that no one except Hermione had really listened to.

"She said we're to introduce ourselves, and thank the press for coming," she whispered to the boys, careful to avoid the magicked microphone sitting on the table. "They're each permitted to ask two questions and a follow-up if they want us to clarify. She advised us to repeat the question somehow in our response to avoid anything be taken out of context."

"Oh, that's rich. You'd think it'd be their job to –"

"Shh, I know. I'm just repeating what she said!"

"Sorry, I'm just nervous is all. Never done this before."

Both Hermione and Ron immediately turned to look Harry, who put his hands up in mock surprise. The three of them burst into laughter, which seemed to stir the crowd nearby. A few quills were already at the ready, magically poised above parchment.

"Are we allowed to smile? I mean, this is meant to be somber, right?" Ron asked under his breath.

"Yeah, grim and morbid. The world needs more of that, surely." Harry quipped.

"Maybe I'll cross my arms and scowl. Mum'll have that framed."

"I'll get some tears going in my 'startlingly green eyes', like Rita Skeeter taught me."

Ron had to hold in his retort as he caught a glimpse of the Minister of Magic making his way toward them across the large lobby. The group of spectators had swelled in number, amazed to find that the mysterious Golden Trio was speaking before the press for the first time. Taking his place up front, Minister Shacklebolt sent the three friends a warm smile and wink before addressing the crowd.

"Good morning, everyone. I warmly welcome you to the Ministry of Magic, and hope you appreciate the efforts we've made to ensure all of you feel fairly represented by a government that cares to uphold the rights of _everyone_." He paused, looking directly at the tall witch who represented the _Daily Prophet_. His determined voice echoed off the walls as he continued.

"We're grateful to have with us today three young people who exhibited incredible valor in taking down the dark forces that threatened our very world," he said, turning to face them. Ron felt his face redden as the heads turned their way. "While the battle that resulted in the demise of Tom Riddle, known to some as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, was just over three months ago, these friends met as first-years at Hogwarts eight years ago and were consistently met with trials and challenges that would have easily overwhelmed any of us; however, they managed to not only triumph over defeat, but also stood up for one another and fought for anyone on the side of justice. We commend them for all they have done, and the graciousness with which they have offered to answer some of your questions today. I do request, as a personal favor, that you keep any inquiries to the subject of their remarkable bravery on this journey that none of them would have chosen." With that, he was ushered away by several ministry officials, and the witch gave them the cue that the madness was about to begin.

"Er," Harry began uncomfortably, leaning forward in his seat. "I'm Harry….Harry Potter." The microphone boomed much louder than they anticipated, and he backed up an inch. "And this here is Ron Weasley, and to his left is Hermione Granger." He paused, looking at them and shrugging. "We're…er…mostly here to thank those who sacrificed so much to do the right thing during the war, and also answer some questions. So, yeah." he finished. Ron had to hand it to him – Harry certainly leaned into his awkwardness.

Ron wasn't sure what the little gathered crowd had been expecting, but imagined it likely wasn't this. His dad had passed along the proposition, thought up by Kingsley himself, that the trio consider making a statement and show their faces to reporters directly. The reason, he explained over dinner, was so that wizarding Britain might be reassured by their confirmation of what happened and less inclined to speculate about the three of them in the aftermath of May's battle. But Ron had balked. " _Are you fucking insane? Put ourselves in the line of fire, for the media that was manipulated by the enemy and spewed falsities about Harry for years? No bloody way."_ But it had been Hermione, shockingly, who seemed to entertain the idea the most. Her rationale, she said, was to offer words of gratitude to those who had fought or lost someone when Death Eaters took control of the ministry. An added benefit, she shared, would be looking the press in the eyes and asking for privacy, knowing that if it was overtly requested by three 'war heroes' who took the time to thank the public, they might be less inclined to invade their lives with absurd articles like the one written about her and George. Two days later, all was arranged.

"Janice Winter, of the _Scripturient Sentinel_ ," piped a brunette witch with short hair. Her arm waved in the air, the one journalist without a camera of any sort.

" _Scripturient?_ Rolls right off the tongue," Ron muttered to Hermione.

"It means the violent desire to write," she whispered back, so quietly he just barely heard her.

"Sounds dangerous."

"How do you do?" Harry asked politely. The witch smiled at him, surprised, and continued.

"Can you share more about what happened in the months leading up to May 2 of this year?"

Harry glanced at Hermione and Ron, sizing up their reactions. They both stared at him blankly, realizing that they should have thought through what their answers might be to any of these questions. Harry was once again into the microphone.

"Well, you see, Albus Dumbledore, the best headmaster Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has ever seen-"

"With Professor Minerva McGonagall a close second," Hermione added quickly, causing a few chuckles and nods from the audience. Ron beamed at her as Harry continued.

"Dumbledore was unfairly made out to be some kind of madman. He was, in fact, one of the only people on earth who knew how to take down Voldemort," he said steadily, ignoring the wince from several people who weren't accustomed to hearing that name. "He shared some important information with me about him. When we learned that Voldemort –"

"Oh for Merlin's sakes, it's just a bloody name!" Ron snapped when the group of people reacted again. He felt a warm hand on his thigh, the pressure reminding him that he just did, in fact, curse in front of a crowd of people who were hanging on to every word. He covered her hand with his own, biting down on his tongue in an effort to remain quiet.

"When we found out that he had destroyed his soul by murdering people in some twisted effort to…"

And the questions went on and on. Ron's head spun from the fast pace of each hand darting up in the air, not even waiting to be called on before blurting out their name and question. Had ten minutes been up yet? Harry and Hermione had alternated answering, sometimes in tandem. They remained calm and composed, sounding levelheaded and sure of themselves. _Why was he even here?_

"Thaddeus Opal, _The Morn Mirror_!" Yelled a man in the back, turning a few heads. "Our readers are most concerned about how you're coping with everything."

Hermione leaned forward this time, clearing her throat delicately before responding. "That's very kind of them to be concerned, Mr. Opal. There are plenty of others who have lost-"

"But what about _you?_ " The pudgy wizard pressed. "We've heard reports of you living with the Weasley family. It makes sense that Harry Potter should be there, seeing as he has no living relatives, but what about you? Were your parents killed as well?"

All three of them were clearly shocked by such a direct question, as there was a significant pause before anyone spoke. Ron took his chance.

"They're safe. Hermione acted brilliantly and ensured they were taken care of before –"

"They're _safe_ , you say?" The wizard interrupted again, his quill skating across the notebook levitated by his head. "Then why not bring them out into the open, if the ministry claims that muggles are truly no longer in any danger from dark wizards?"

"It's not an issue of safety, I can assure you," Hermione responded, her hand on Ron's thigh balling into a fist. "It's just a matter of…logistics. Next question, please."

"What's next for you all? You've been through hell. Are you taking time off in order to figure out your career paths? Any desire to return to Hogwarts?"

"We're spending time with the people we care about and mourning the losses of –"

"Like your brother, Fred Weasley?" called a stout witch who had already asked two questions earlier. Ron grit his teeth. _If they ask the bloody questions, why don't they wait to hear the full answer?_

"Yes, like Fred Weasley, and the many others who fought valiantly. If you have time, you should certainly make sure you check out the model of the memorial that will be erected-" Hermione was once again cut off by a different wizard.

"What about his brother, George? Do you fancy him, Miss. Granger?"

Ron bolted upright from his chair, trying to see who had asked the question. He spotted heads turned towards a young wizard with slicked back hair. The imbecile was just a bloody spectator!

"We're not entertaining questions of that sort, thank you very much," Harry snapped, looking over at the ministry's press manager for reinforcement. "In fact, I believe the time's almost up-"

"So you don't deny it, Miss. Granger?"

Ron felt his blood boil. _The fucking nerve!_ He reached over and swung the microphone his direction, causing a terrible noise as his voice boomed into the speaker. " _Miss. Granger_ happens to be _my_ girlfriend, thank you very much. I've been in love with her since I was about fourteen." He glanced over at the brunette seated next to him and expected to see her blushing furiously, but she just looked at him quite calmly. "Now, if you all don't mind, the three of us are going to go on and live boring, normal lives, and would appreciate some privacy."

He stood so swiftly his chair knocked over backwards, causing Hermione to squeak. He held out his hand and she took it gladly, allowing him to pull her up.

Harry hesitated, clearly not anticipating such an abrupt ending. With a quick glance over at his two friends, he stood as well but leaned down to make one last comment to the gathering before them. "Er, thank you all for coming. Have a lovely day."

Ron rolled his eyes, stepping off the elevated platform and headed towards the exits. Hermione was by his side in an instant, lacing her fingers between his. The click of her heels on the marbled floor was a welcome sound. Harry shuffled behind them, eventually breaking into a light jog to catch up with them. They made their way to the closest fireplaces and flooed in rapid succession back to the Burrow.

* * *

"Interested in nothing but rubbish, the tosspots!" Ron bellowed before taking a massive bite of the sandwich in his hand. The rest of his rant was unintelligible as his cheeks bulged with food. Harry grunted in agreement and backed out the door towards the garden, his hands loaded down with plated sandwiches for him and presumably Ginny.

"Be fair, Ron. Some of their questions were reasonable," she argued, wishing they could just change the subject. The rich tomato soup in front of her didn't rouse her appetite one bit. She picked up her spoon and stirred, feeling more exhausted than she had all summer. She hadn't realized how long she stared absentmindedly, as if in a trance.

"Oi!"

She jumped, startled, and dropped her spoon to the ground with a loud clatter. Ron bent over to pick it up, blue eyes glued to her as he moved closer.

"Sorry," he said softly, taking a seat next to her. "You alright?"

She nodded, forcing a smile on her face. He was shirtless, having unbuttoned the crisp white shirt as soon as they arrived back to the Burrow. He smelled of clean soap. She ducked her head, nuzzling her face against his shoulder. One strong arm came around her side and tucked her close, his thumb roaming back and forth over her shoulder. She nestled deeper, closing her eyes.

"Eat half that soup and we'll go have a lie-down," she heard him say, feeling the rumble of his chest against her head as he spoke.

"You make me sound like a tot," Hermione chuckled, reluctantly moving her head from his side. The bowl seemed to taunt her. She hadn't made a dent. "Want to feed me as well?" she teased.

He rose from the chair next to her and walked to the counter, pulling a clean spoon from the drawer. Hermione laughed heartily as he returned to his place next to her, raising an eyebrow as she hesitated to pick up the spoon.

"You asked for it, woman!"

She stared in shock as Ron dipped the utensil into her bowl, drawing it up towards her mouth with a hand underneath.

"Go on," he said, his face filled with mock earnestness.

"Ron, you are _not_ feeding me," Hermione urged, suddenly fearful that he was going to dribble all over her clothes and stain one of the few nice outfits she had left. "And you better move your hand before you spill!"

"Not until you –"

Hermione, surprising even herself, leaned forward and wrapped her mouth around the offensive spoon and swallowed its contents. She turned her eyes to Ron who sat there in shock.

"That was…bloody hot."

She smacked his thigh jokingly, snatching the spoon from his hand and taking a few more bites. She felt self conscious with him sitting there watching so she ate quickly, wiping her mouth with her napkin and standing up.

He was still looking at her, but the astonished expression he donned earlier was replaced with a calm smile. She seated herself sideways in his lap, relishing the emptiness of the kitchen and playfulness between the two of them.

"Still want to go upstairs…?" She whispered into the shell of his ear. He shuddered lightly as she ran her fingers up his arms slowly, resting on his shoulders. Feeling emboldened, she took his earlobe between her teeth and lightly bit down, delighting in the way he tensed beneath her.

In a flash he stood up, taking her with him. Hermione shrieked his name as he carried them both up the winding stairs, clearly on a mission. When they arrived outside his door, she reached out to open it, giggling as he kicked it closed behind them.

"Been waiting to get you here along all day," he huffed, lowering her to the bed. Hermione kicked off her shoes as he reached into his back pocket and uttered a series of silencing and locking spells, encasing them in privacy.

"Get over here," she said coyly, patting the space beside her on the narrow bed. He unbuttoned his trousers as he made is way toward her, pushing them down completely before laying down on his back beside her in just his underwear.

She swung one leg over him to straddle his body, both of them gasping in pleasure as her clothed center met his. His arms pulled hers down and she rested her elbows on either side of his head, leaning down to kiss him fully on the lips. Her temperature shot up as she felt him shift beneath her, rolling his hips lightly.

"Ohmygod," she breathed against his lips, basking in the friction between their bodies. She tore herself away from him to pull her shirt off over her head before Ron beckoned her back down. The witch moaned as his warm skin made contact with hers, nothing left separating their chests aside from the thin fabric of her bra.

Ron's hands were moving up her thighs, bunching her skirt as they got closer and closer to where she most desperately wanted him to touch her.

"Gonna…need….to stop," Ron breathed, eyes still heavily lidded. Hermione cocked her head at him, unsure why he would possibly want to do such a thing. "S'not that I don't want to rip this skirt off you, but I kind of want to…I dunno…talk."

 _Talk? He wants to talk?_

"Don't look so nervous, love," Ron chuckled, sliding his hands down from her thighs and reaching to tug on her arm, pulling her down beside him. Before laying down completely, she unzipped her rumpled skirt and let it drop to the floor before resting her head on the same pillow as him as he turned on his side, so close to one another that she could count the freckles on his face. His hand went automatically to rest on her waist.

"What's on your mind?" she asked, eyes searching his. He seemed relaxed, content – she was thrown off.

"You," he answered, scooting even closer. "You were brilliant today."

Hermione felt her face warm, feeling shy all of a sudden. She wanted to forget about today, not relive the discomfort.

"I was just answering their questions," she muttered, eyes fixated on a goose feather peeking through the pillowcase. "You were the one with the grand finale, after all."

"They're all barmy, every last one of them," Ron began, pausing to pull out the feather she had been staring at. "But I am beginning to feel like a shite boyfriend. We've really been through a lot, but you've been on the backburner. We haven't fully planned that Australia trip, or talked about what's next for you."

"Nor you!" Hermione quipped, growing a bit annoyed. _Why the focus on her?_ He must have seen her eyes narrow because he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face and rolling to his back. She propped herself up on her elbow, looking down at the ginger wizard who was perplexing her so.

"D'you ever find yourself…I dunno…getting sort of restless here?"

Hermione paused, biting her lip. _Should she answer honestly?_ She knew the man lying out beside her quite well. She loved his tender affection that was reserved just for her, his fierce protection, his loyalty. But she knew his vice, and the risk of him getting insecure over her real answer kept her from responding right away.

"I do," she heard him say to her surprise. Her hand went out to touch his jaw, causing him turn his head to face her again. "Don't get me wrong, I knew I needed to be here after everything. But it just feels like we need to go on to the next thing."

"Ron," she whispered, meeting his eyes. They held so much intensity. "I had no idea you felt that way."

He held her gaze but reached his hand to the one she had on his face, stroking her wrist with his thumb.

"I suppose…well, I've felt a bit restless too, but I haven't wanted much to think of the future," she whispered, lowering head to rest on the pillow again. "It…it kind of scares me, to be honest. I don't know how things will go in Australia. And do we go back to Hogwarts?"

Ron shook his head looking her full in the face. "I'm not going back there."

"I miss it," Hermione allowed herself to confess sadly.

A smile broke out across his face, taking her off guard. "I know it."

For the next hour they talked through dreams, fears, plans, anxieties, and impending next steps. It was the most sobering yet hopeful conversation Hermione remembered having in a long, long time.

Ron looked down at the dozing girl in his arms, her head heavy on his chest and mess of curls tickling his arm as she moved up and down each time he inhaled and exhaled.

They were positively knackered.

It was decided, then – she would go to Hogwarts and wrap up her seventh year after their trip to Melbourne next week, and he would take Harry up on the idea of doing the Auror's training. He needed to talk with his mum, and Hermione needed to organize the trip and speak with McGonagall about a late start.

 _They were going to be all right._

He leaned down and planted his lips on the crown of her head, his heart beating madly in his chest at the idea of spending the rest of his life with her.

* * *

 _A/N: Hope you enjoyed this! xx violet_


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